


Follow You Into The Dark

by Jiangyin



Series: Twin Souls Trilogy [4]
Category: Hanson
Genre: Alternate History, Cancer, Chronic Illness, Established Relationship, F/M, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-24
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiangyin/pseuds/Jiangyin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiny brought them together. Only the inevitable has the power to tear them apart. Book Three of the Twin Souls Trilogy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. ...never been this scared before

**Author's Note:**

> The spark of the idea that would eventually become _Follow You Into The Dark_ was ignited in October 2008 – a full two years before I was even close to beginning work on it. As I worked on _Defying Gravity_ and _Many The Miles_ I was also researching the plot of and brainstorming ideas for _Follow You Into The Dark_ , and had the plot and chapter titles completely nailed down in March 2010. It is the final instalment of the Twin Souls Trilogy, and takes its title from a song by the band Death Cab For Cutie.
> 
> **Please note:** This fic was edited between May 30 and June 10 2017, in preparation for resuming work after a three-year break.

_If heaven and hell decide  
That they both are satisfied  
Illuminate the ‘No’s  
On their vacancy signs  
If there’s no-one beside you  
When your soul embarks  
Then I’ll follow you into the dark_  
  
Death Cab For Cutie – _I Will Follow You Into The Dark_

* * *

_Taylor_

I hate hospitals.

I always have, and I’m pretty sure I always will. It doesn’t help that the vast majority of my experience with hospitals has been as a patient, though I’ve also spent my fair share of time with family and friends in waiting rooms. The waiting is always the worst part.

“Hey.”

Mark’s voice made me look up from my intense study of my shoelaces. He looked about as worried and stressed out as I felt, his tone weary.

“Hey,” I mumbled in response, and looked back down at my shoelaces. “Why is this taking so damn long?”

My twin sat down in the empty seat to my right, the plastic creaking a little under his weight, and stretched his long legs out before him. “You know what doctors are like, Tay,” he reminded me. “Or at least you should by now, considering how many times you’ve ended up in hospital.”

“I know what they’re like,” I snapped at him. “I don’t need a reminder.” I regretted those words and my tone almost right away, and I let out a quiet, almost defeated sigh. “Sorry,” I apologised.

“It’s all right,” Mark replied. I felt him put a hand on my back, one I knew was intended to be comforting. “She’ll be all right, Tay. I know she will.”

“I hope you’re right, Marcus,” I said. That I didn’t call him _Mark_ , like I usually did, was a sign of how worried I truly was.

“Have I ever been wrong?” he asked me. “No, wait, don’t answer that,” he added, a little hurriedly I thought, and I bit back a smirk. “Whatever it is that she’s come down with, you’ll get through it. I know you will.”

I wanted to believe him. I truly did. And I would have if it wasn’t for the tiny dissenting voice in the back of my head that said my brother was _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

I heard footsteps to my left, and I looked over to see Jack walking into the waiting room. His hands had been shoved deep into his pockets, and he had his head bowed. “Jack,” I called out, and he looked up at me. “Did you call your parents?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I’m not looking forward to seeing my phone bill after _that_ phone call.”

“What did they say?” I prompted him.

“Well…” Jack sat down on my other side. “They’re both pretty worried. Both of them were with Bella the first time she was sick, and they’re well aware it could happen again. Not that I’m saying she’s _that_ sick,” he added, “but we all know the possibility’s there.”

“I don’t even want to think about it, Jack,” I said tiredly. It had been a long day for all of us, and I was beyond exhausted. All I wanted to do was to go home and crawl into bed with Isobel, but I was beginning to get the impression that I wasn’t going to get even that much.

“Taylor Hanson?”

I looked up to see someone I thought was a doctor standing in front of me. She had a stethoscope draped around her neck. “Yeah, that’s me,” I replied.

“I’m Dr. Saville – as I understand it, your wife was admitted a few hours ago,” she said, and I nodded. “May I sit?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said, and Dr. Saville seated herself in the row of seats opposite Mark, Jack and I. “Is Isobel okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. However, there were a few things I wanted to discuss with you about the circumstances of her admission here to RPA.” For the first time I noticed the clipboard that Dr. Saville had balanced on her lap. “Would it be possible for us to speak in private?”

“Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of these two,” I said. “That’s Isobel’s brother,” I continued, pointing to Jack, “and he’s mine.” I pointed to Mark as I said those last words.

“All right then, if you’re sure,” she said, and I nodded. “How long has Isobel been feeling unwell?”

I counted back to when Isobel had started to feel under the weather. “It’s been around six weeks,” I replied once I was sure I had the dates right in my head. “We wrote it off as stress to begin with – that was what the doctor she saw in Perth told her, anyway. But then a few days later I noticed a rash all over her back.” I swiped a hand over my face. “It just escalated from there – her energy levels were all over the place for a few weeks, but I put that down to being on tour and not getting a lot of sleep.”

“On tour?” Dr. Saville asked.

“Isobel’s a musician,” I clarified. “Her band just finished a tour around Australia.” My gaze drifted down to my feet. “And then…it would have been a week and a half ago now, one rehearsal almost completely drained her. She only made it through the concert that night because she napped for a few hours beforehand and sat down the whole time she was onstage. A few days later she woke up at something like three in the morning with a bleeding nose and a high fever – I don’t know how high it was, we didn’t have a thermometer handy, but it didn’t break until she’d taken some Panadol at mid-morning.” I ran my hands through my hair, my fingers catching on snarls and tangles. “The rash had come back as well the evening before, and she told me her bones were hurting. She couldn’t perform that evening, and she ended up sleeping most of the day.

“Everything was fine for the week after that, right up until this afternoon. She had her old energy back, no aches and pains, no more nosebleeds, even that rash was gone. When we got to Sydney earlier today, though, we got off the train at St. James station, and she got out of breath climbing the stairs. I’ve known her for nearly two and a half years, and that hasn’t happened before.”

“But she was fine until tonight, though,” Mark interjected. “She got through the whole set without any problems. Right after the concert though, while the rest of us were celebrating, one of our sisters said she felt really dizzy and light-headed. And then she just passed out.”

“Has she seen her doctor recently?” Dr. Saville asked.

I nodded again. “Last Wednesday. She had a bunch of tests done, blood tests mostly. Her doctor got the results back this morning. She was due to go back for an appointment tomorrow.”

Dr. Saville seemed to make a note of this on her clipboard. “Is there anything else you could tell me? Every detail helps, no matter how inconsequential you think it might be.”

In that moment, I knew I had to tell Isobel’s secret. I knew that her health depended on it, otherwise I would never have breached her trust in me.

“The afternoon the tour started, back in April, she told me that when she was a kid she was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia,” I said. I felt incredibly guilty as I said this, even though I knew Isobel would have been okay with the reason for it. “She spent two-and-a-half years in treatment before she made remission.”

“I see,” Dr. Saville said, frowning. “Did she give you any dates in relation to her diagnosis?”

“She was diagnosed just after her fourth birthday. Her birthday’s April seventeenth 1984,” I added, and saw Dr. Saville write this down. “So in the second half of April 1988. She didn’t tell me the exact date. She made remission on the thirty-first of October 1990.” I leaned forward a little. “She…she also told me that she was at risk of another type of leukaemia later on, but she didn’t say which one. Do you think that might be related?”

Dr. Saville was quiet for a little while. “It’s entirely possible,” she said at last. “Many cancer patients are at risk of developing what’s known as a secondary malignancy many years after they make remission. One of those secondary malignancies is acute myeloid leukaemia. I won’t say that this is what her eventual diagnosis will be, because there’s every chance it’s something relatively minor. But you should be prepared for the possibility nevertheless.”

“Do you need her doctor’s name?” I asked.

“It would be a huge help, yes.”

“Her doctor’s name is Dr. Olivia Talbot, at the Wollongong Medical Centre.” I picked at the left knee of my jeans. “Is there anything else you need to know?”

“No, that should be all for now.” Dr. Saville rose to her feet. “You can see her for a little while if you like, but after that I’d advise you to go home and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Dr. Saville.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” She gave me a smile. “Follow me, please.”

Dr. Saville led Mark, Jack and I to a private room a couple of corridors away from Emergency. I couldn’t help the relief that surged through me as I peered in through the door – Isobel was sitting up in her hospital bed, her knees drawn up under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. In place of the jeans and red top she had worn to Sydney that day was a plain white hospital gown. She looked over from staring at the wall as I walked in and closed the door halfway behind me.

“Hey you,” I said as I pulled one of the room’s visitors’ chairs up to the side of her bed and sat down. She gave me a shaky smile. “Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” Isobel replied. “I’m not dizzy anymore at least. But I still feel like shit.” She studied me briefly. “Are you going to stay here in Sydney tonight?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s a little too late for me to be going all the way home. I’ll crash with my brothers or something.”

“You got your meds with you?”

I nodded. “They’re in my backpack. And the neighbours are keeping an eye on Ratchet for us tonight.”

“Good,” Isobel murmured. Her eyes dropped closed for the briefest of moments, and I knew she was just as exhausted as I was. I stood up and slipped a couple of fingers under Isobel’s chin, lifting her head upward so I could see into her eyes.

“You get some sleep, okay?” I told her, and she nodded a little. “I’ll be back as soon as visiting hours start tomorrow morning.” She uncurled herself so I could give her a goodnight hug, and breathed in deeply as she buried her face in the shoulder of my hoodie. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Tay,” she whispered as she lay down, settling into sleep. I managed a small smile and bent down to kiss Isobel on her forehead, and brushed a hand over her hair as I left her bedside.

Mark and Jack were waiting in the corridor outside as I left Isobel’s room. “How is she?” Jack asked as the two of them fell into step beside me.

“She’s pretty tired,” I replied. “I’d have asked you if you wanted to see her too but she went to sleep a couple of minutes ago.”

“It’s all right,” Jack said. “I can see her tomorrow. You holding up okay?”

I shrugged. “I’ll be all right. Besides, I’m not the one everyone should be worried about.”

“Where are you going to stay tonight?” Mark asked me as we headed down the corridor.

“I was hoping I could crash with you guys,” I replied. “It’s far too late to be going all the way home – I won’t get enough sleep, and I’ll probably just have to turn straight around again to come back here.”

“That’s probably the best idea you’ve had in ages,” Mark snarked, and I cuffed him half-heartedly across the back of his head.

From the hospital, we walked to Macdonaldtown station and caught a train into the city. By the time the three of us disembarked at Wynyard station, it was twenty-five to ten at night and I was just about falling asleep on my feet. I figured Mark had to have texted our mother between leaving the hospital and getting off the train, for when we arrived at the hotel she was sitting there in the lobby, Schuyler hovering just a few feet away. She rose from her seat when she saw me walking in behind Mark and Jack, and took me into an embrace once I was within reach. For once, I didn’t resist – I knew I needed this.

“How is she?” Mom asked me.

“She’s exhausted,” I replied. “A little scared, too, I think – I couldn’t get much out of her. She went to sleep just before we left the hospital.” I didn’t even bother to bite back a yawn, knowing that Mom could tell I was worn out just by looking at me.

“Let’s get you upstairs to bed,” my mother suggested, and I nodded mutely. Schuyler wandered over and came up to my left side, slinging an arm around my shoulders.

“I’m going to want the full story from you later on,” she told me in a low voice as she guided me toward the bank of lifts that lined a nearby wall. “There’s something neither of you are telling me.” She let out a quiet sigh. “I hate secrets.”

One of the lifts opened its doors right as Schuyler jabbed the UP arrow, and we stepped inside. Jack, Mark and Mom weren’t too far behind, and Mark pressed the button for the eleventh floor. I stayed quiet as the lift rose upwards, unsure if I could even speak – I was too worried, too scared. There was an ache deep inside me, one that I knew would only ease when I was sure Isobel would be okay. She _had_ to be okay…because I wasn’t sure I could survive without her.

* * *

I was woken the next morning by a very insistent finger poking me in the ribs, and opened my eyes to find a slightly fuzzy-around-the-edges Zoë knelt on the floor and staring at me. My night had been spent in the living room of my brothers’ apartment – it adjoined the one occupied by the rest of my family, with Jack and Schuyler having taken a room a couple of floors down.

“Zo?” I asked in a whisper, unsure if everyone else was awake yet or not. “What’re you doin’?”

“Waking you up,” she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She seemed to anticipate my next question even before I opened my mouth to ask it, adding, “It’s eight-thirty.”

“Thanks, Zo,” I mumbled as I shifted onto my back and stretched. I was already beginning to feel the effects of spending a night on the narrow, slightly uncomfortable piece of furniture the hotel called a couch – my back and shoulders were aching, and my knees, elbows and wrists were stiff and sore. Were it not for the winter sunlight streaming in through the windows, with the way my joints were aching I would have thought it was raining outside. “Can you grab my backpack for me?” I asked as I hunted blindly for my glasses.

Zoë found my backpack in almost no time at all, and I was soon sitting up and pawing through it in search of my medication. During my search I turfed out the various bits and pieces I had brought to Sydney with me the day before. I tossed my hoodie, a spare long-sleeved shirt, my cell phone, house and car keys, my iPod and earphones, a half-full bottle of water and a ziplock bag full of peanut butter M&M’s out onto the floor, before finally unearthing a second ziplock bag containing three pill packets.

“Zoë, leave your brother alone,” I heard Mom say as I crammed all but the shirt, hoodie, bottle of water, my M&M’s and my medication back into my backpack and zipped it up. “He’s still sleeping.”

“I’m up, Mom,” I told her. I took the lid off my bottle of water and set both the lid and the bottle on the coffee table, opened the ziplock bag that held my medication, and tipped the packets inside out next to my bottle of water.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she sat down next to me on the couch.

“Sore,” I answered. “Tired, too.” As if to emphasise this last point, I rubbed at my left eye with the heel of my left hand. I wasn’t lying – I was tired right down to my bones, and I knew exactly why. Most of it was from all the excitement of the day before, but a good deal of my exhaustion was worry about Isobel. I knew that the only reason I had slept the night before was because of my medication knocking me out for a good eight hours – if not for that, I knew I would have stayed up all night.

I took my medication and a couple of Panadeine, washing each pill down with water, and chased them with a handful of M&M’s. It wasn’t the best breakfast in the world, but I wasn’t exactly hungry or in the mood for anything more substantial. This was even though I knew full well that it would come back to bite me later on.

“When were you planning to go out to the hospital?” Mom asked me once I had finished my M&M’s. Around me were the sounds of the morning after a concert – my brothers banging around their rooms trying to wake up, Zoë watching cartoons on TV, and my father next door marshalling Jessica, Avery and Mackenzie together in readiness for heading downstairs.

“Around ten or so,” I answered. “I need to have a shower before I go over there, and Schuyler wanted to talk to me as well.” That was a conversation I wasn’t looking forward to.

I heard a door open behind me, and I looked back over my shoulder to see Mark wandering out into the main room. He had a towel draped over his head and was scrubbing at his hair with one hand. “Good morning,” he said as he walked over to the armchair, a twin for the couch Mom and I sat on. He dropped down into it and put his bare feet up on the coffee table.

“Feet off the furniture, Mark,” Mom chided.

“Sorry, Mom,” Mark said, and put his feet down on the carpet. He looked at me from beneath his towel. “You’re up early.”

I shrugged and stood up. “I’m going to go and hop in the shower,” I said, and bent down to snag my spare shirt from the floor on my way to the bathroom.

After my shower, I headed downstairs to Schuyler and Jack’s hotel room. I really wasn’t looking forward to what Schuyler had to say to me – her tone the night before had been rather ominous. Part of me hoped that Jack had already told her the full story. Knowing my luck, though, it would be left to me to do so.

The door for room 902 opened a few seconds after I had knocked. Jack stood there in the doorway with one eyebrow raised. “You’re up early,” he commented, echoing Mark’s own words from earlier.

“Are you channelling my twin?” I asked. “That was the first thing he said to me this morning.”

“More like it’s common knowledge in your family that you like to sleep in,” Jack said with a shrug.

“It’s not because I _like_ to sleep in. It’s because I can’t help it most of the time.” At Jack’s look of puzzlement, I elaborated, “I’ve got chronic fatigue syndrome, Jack. Can I talk to Schuyler?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack replied, and stepped aside to allow me to enter the room.

Schuyler was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds inside the room, watching TV with one hand on the remote control. She looked away from the TV as I sat down near the end of her bed. “You said last night that you wanted to talk to me,” I said, bracing myself for a lecture.

“I did, yeah.” She set the remote control aside and shifted closer to me. “Is there something Isobel has been keeping a secret?” she asked.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” I asked.

“Just answer the question.”

I drew in a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh. “Yes, there is something that Isobel has been keeping a secret. She didn’t tell me until two months ago, so I’ve been in the dark almost as much as you have.”

From there, I proceeded to tell Schuyler everything that Isobel had told me the first afternoon of the tour. To her credit Schuyler didn’t interrupt me once, instead listening intently the whole time I was speaking. Once I was done, she didn’t speak for a few moments.

“I’ve always wondered why she needed a tutor for History,” Schuyler said at last. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on how smart she is.” I nodded, and she continued, “I’m guessing all of that was why she felt she had to be tutored.”

“She was held back a grade as well,” I reminded her. “That probably didn’t help matters.”

“When are you going to see her?” Schuyler asked.

“Soon. D’you want to come with? I could use the company.”

“I think I might. I didn’t get to see her last night.”

I glanced at Schuyler’s watch. “So meet up in front in about ten minutes?” I suggested, and Schuyler nodded.

Exactly ten minutes later I stepped out of the hotel onto the footpath outside, bundled up against the winter chill in my hoodie and one of Mark’s many scarves, my hands jammed into my pockets. Schuyler joined me half a minute later and gave me a small smile before leading the way to the train station.

“Something on your mind?” she asked as we walked up York Street.

“I’m just worried,” I replied. Inside my pockets my fingers were crossed.

“Uh-huh,” Schuyler said sceptically. It was as if she could see my hands through the thick fleece of my hoodie. “Remind me again why I don’t believe you for a second?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Schuyler put up a hand to forestall any protest. “How long have we known each other for, Taylor?” she asked.

“Seven years,” I replied quietly.

“Seven years,” she repeated. “And in those seven years, you’d think I would be able to pick up on more than a few things about you. Right?”

“I suppose so.”

Right as I finished speaking, Schuyler pushed me back against the rough brick wall of a nearby building. “You’re more than worried, Taylor. You’re fucking _terrified_. Now spit it out.”

“I can’t live without her, Sky!” I almost shouted.

“ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere,” Schuyler said, sounding very pleased with herself.

“I just…” I dragged my hands out of my pockets, uncrossing my fingers before exposing them to the cold June air, and raked them through my still-damp hair. “She makes me _whole_ , Sky. She makes my world brighter and less lonely just by being in it. And if I lose her like this…” My eyes dropped closed. “That would be the end for me. I know it would be.”

Schuyler’s response wasn’t a verbal one. Instead her hand went to my shoulder, and I felt her squeeze it gently. And just from that one small gesture, I knew she understood.

Visiting hours at the hospital didn’t begin until ten o’clock, so the two of us caught a train to Newtown station rather than Macdonaldtown and spent a fair bit of time in a café in Enmore. As soon as Schuyler’s watch ticked over to nine forty-five, we got up from our table and headed through to the hospital.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Schuyler asked as we reached Isobel’s hospital room. The walk from Enmore to Camperdown hadn’t taken us very long at all, and we had arrived at the hospital right as visiting hours began.

I considered Schuyler’s question briefly. “I think I’ll be okay,” I replied. “Thanks, though.”

Isobel was sitting up in bed and watching TV when I slipped into her room. She looked away from the screen as I closed the door behind me and gave me a small smile. “Hey,” she said, her voice barely audible over the TV.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked as I pulled a chair up to her bedside.

She shrugged and switched the TV off. “A little better. Not much though. I just want to get out of here.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” I said sympathetically. “I hate hospitals as much as you do.”

“Do you now? Never would have guessed,” she said dryly.

The door opened again not even a minute later, this time to admit Dr. Saville. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully as the door closed again behind her. “How are we doing today?”

Isobel shrugged. “I can’t complain.”

“Good, good.” Dr. Saville pulled up a chair of her own on Isobel’s other side and seated herself. “Your GP faxed over your test results earlier this morning,” she said, getting right to the point. “Did she give you any indication as to what they pointed to?”

Isobel shook her head. “All she told me was that she wanted to discuss them with me,” she answered. “I mean, obviously she wasn’t going to tell me over the phone.” She fidgeted a little, twisting her bedclothes around her fingers. “Is it bad news?” she asked, her voice small and scared.

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Saville said quietly.

That was all it took. The second those two words left Dr. Saville’s mouth, Isobel broke down into silent, trembling sobbing. I didn’t hesitate for a second in getting up from my chair and sitting down on the bed next to her, and drawing her close. She immediately buried her face in my shoulder and cried her heart out, and I gently rubbed her back to try and soothe her. I knew she was absolutely devastated by the news, and I could hardly blame her for that.

“What are we dealing with?” I asked shortly after Isobel’s crying had tapered off. I had meant what I’d told Isobel the day she had confessed her secret to me – I would be with her every step of the way through this ordeal, and so I needed to know everything about it that I possibly could.

“The diagnosis is of biphenotypic acute leukaemia,” Dr. Saville said, consulting her notes. “It’s an extremely rare form of the disease that exhibits characteristics of both the myeloid and lymphocytic types of leukaemia.”

The next words that left her mouth were some of the most frightening I had ever heard.

“The average survival time for this form of leukaemia is ten months.”

_Ten months_. A chill shot down my back as I realised what those words meant. “You…you’re kidding, right?” I asked. Schuyler was right – I wasn’t worried any longer. Now I was absolutely terrified.

“I only wish I were kidding. Isobel will need to start treatment immediately – we cannot afford to waste one moment.” Dr. Saville put her clipboard aside. “You have a shot at beating this, Isobel,” she said, her tone gentle and soothing. “I promise you that. Not everyone dies from this – it’s extremely aggressive, yes, but it can be beaten.”

“And I want to try,” Isobel said softly, her voice tear-choked.

Dr. Saville nodded. “Excellent. I’ll have one of our oncologists drop around to speak with you once you’ve been admitted – they will be able to give you the full details of what you’re facing and your treatment options.”

“So I can’t go home?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” Here Dr. Saville looked to me. “I think it may be a good idea for you to pack up a few things to make Isobel’s stay a little more comfortable while she’s here, once you head home. It’s likely to be quite some time before she’s able to be discharged.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you, Dr. Saville.”

“I can’t believe it,” Isobel whispered once the door was closed and we were alone. “I-I mean I guessed what it could be, but I never expected I’d be _right…_ ” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Why am I always right?”

“Shh,” I whispered. “Don’t think about that, all right?”

“What am I _supposed_ to think about?”

“How you’re going to kick this thing’s ass.” Isobel scoffed at this. “You _will_ beat it, Issie. I have complete faith in you. That ten months Dr. Saville mentioned? It’s fucking frightening, yeah, but it’s just an average. And you, my love, have never been average.”

This seemed to cheer Isobel up a little. “You really think I can beat it?”

“I really do.” I kissed her on her forehead and ran a hand over her hair, smoothing down her curls and flyaways. “And I’ll be with you every step of the way. You won’t be alone in this.”

“Do you promise?”

I nodded. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Where The Story Ends_ – The Fray


	2. 2. …give you everything I’ve got

_Isobel_

“Can you get my phone for me?” I asked a few minutes after Dr. Saville had taken her leave. “I need to call my parents. They…” I swallowed hard. “They need to hear this from me.”

Taylor nodded and got up from his seat on the bed next to me, walking the few steps toward where my handbag sat on a nearby chair. Within moments he had my handbag unzipped and my phone out. I took it from him and flipped it open, clicked through to my phone directory and scrolled to find my parents’ home number. I did know what the number was, it having been mine until I’d moved to New York, but I didn’t trust my own memory right at that moment. Knowing me, I would have dialled a wrong number and ended up wasting my phone credit.

“Hello Isobel,” I heard Mum say when she answered.

“Hi Mum,” I said, my voice starting to shake a little.

“Isobel, has something happened?” Mum asked, her voice sounding concerned, and I nearly burst into tears all over again. “Isobel?”

“Y-yeah,” I replied, trying to keep the tears out of my voice. “Mum, I…” My voice faltered, and I broke down all over again. I felt Taylor’s right arm encircle my shoulders right before he took my phone out of my hand.

“Do you want me to tell her?” he asked in a low voice, and I nodded.

“It’s on speaker,” I whispered.

“Marian?” Taylor said to get my mother’s attention. “I think you should probably be sitting down for this. This is…” He trailed off and bowed his head, and I swore I could see tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Isobel and I have only known for about ten minutes, and we’re still having trouble coming to terms with it.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Isobel’s sick, Marian.”

“Oh my goodness,” Mum said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“The doctor who told us called it biphenotypic acute leukaemia,” Taylor continued. He glanced over at me. “It’s hit us both pretty hard. Issie’s probably going to be admitted this afternoon – odds are she’ll be here for a while.”

“Do you know how long?”

“Not yet, but probably for at least the next few months.”

“Mum, you don’t need to come down here,” I tried to protest.

“Of course I do,” Mum said. “Love, you are going to need all the support you can get right now. This is going to be just as tough a battle as the last one was. I don’t doubt that Taylor is prepared and willing to stick by and support you, but you need to keep in mind that he’s sick as well.”

“I know that, Mum.”

Mum’s voice took on a softer tone. “You both need to be selfish and take care of yourselves right now. Neither of you are going to be able to do that if you’re both running around like headless chickens. All right?”

I almost nodded before I remembered that Mum couldn’t see it. “All right,” I conceded.

“That’s my girl. I’m going to start looking into applying for a visa tomorrow, and once I’ve got that organised I’ll try to be on the next flight out.”

“Yeah, all right.” I swiped at my eyes with the back of my right hand. “Do you think you can tell Dad and everyone else what’s going on? I don’t know if I could handle it.”

“Of course I can. You just focus on getting better – that’s the only thing that you need to worry about right now.”

Soon enough, I was done talking to my mother. “That was harder than I thought it would be,” I said as Taylor set my phone down on my bedside table.

He managed a faint smile and slipped down off my bed. “I should probably go and tell my parents what’s happening. I’m not looking forward to my mother’s reaction one bit.”

“I don’t think I can blame you,” I said, and was rewarded with a second smile. “Be careful heading back.”

“I will,” he promised, leaning in for one last kiss before heading out into the corridor. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets on his way out, head down and shoulders raised up around his ears, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip. His entire stance screamed _pain_ , but this time it wasn’t the physical kind – more than anything else, it was completely psychological. I was at the core of it all, and I damn well knew it.

Once I was certain he had disappeared down the corridor, I reached for my phone again and flipped it back open. I had one more phone call to make.

Much to my relief, my call was answered almost straight away. “Isobel!” Emmanuelle said, sounding relieved. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right,” I replied. “Is everyone else there? There’s something I need to tell you all.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Emmanuelle said. She sounded a little worried now, and I wasn’t sure I blamed her. “Hang on a sec, I’ll go nab the three of ‘em.”

“Thanks, Em,” I said absently.

Not even a minute later I heard Emmanuelle’s voice again. “Okay Bel, we’re all here,” she said, her voice echoing a little – and just from that, I knew she’d put the phone on speaker. “So what’s going on?”

“I’m still in hospital,” I replied. “And I will be for a while yet by the looks of things.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Pania said worriedly.

From there, the whole sorry story came pouring out of me. Not even one of my bandmates interrupted me as I told them everything – how all my exhaustion, raging fevers, rashes, aches and pains hadn’t been tour stress at all, but had instead been one warning sign after another of the battle I now faced.

“This is just…it’s a complete clusterfuck, you guys,” I said once I had finished telling them what was going on. “And I’m really fucking sorry this is happening right now. It’s the last thing we need.”

“You haven’t got anything to be sorry for,” Melayna told me. “There was no way you could have predicted this.”

“We need a break anyway,” Ayesha added. “We just spent two months on the road, and I know we’re all beyond exhausted. Right now, all you have to focus on is getting better. We’ll worry about the band after that. You’re what’s most important right now.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “And if there’s anything that you or Taylor need – anything at all – you just let us know.”

What Ayesha said left me lost for words for just a few moments. “I…thanks, you guys,” I said at last. “That means a lot.”

The door of my hospital room creaked open just as I finished my phone call, and I looked up from putting my phone back on my bedside table to see Schuyler slipping into the room. “Hey Sky,” I said quietly as she approached my bedside.

“Hey yourself,” Schuyler said, her tone very nearly devoid of emotion. I watched her study me briefly. “Well, this is a fine mess you’ve found yourself in.”

“It’s not like I asked for this to happen,” I muttered, my voice sounding surprisingly sullen even to my own ears.

“I never said you _did_ , Bel.” She sat down in the chair that Taylor had recently vacated. “He told me what happened to you when you were little,” she said, and I knew instantly what she was referring to. “Don’t be angry with him, please.”

“I’m not going to be angry with him,” I assured Schuyler. “Obviously he felt you should know, and besides which I trust his judgment. He wouldn’t have said a word if he didn’t think it was totally necessary.”

Schuyler nodded. “What did the doctor say?”

“Well…” I shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. “She said I have leukaemia again. It’s a different type though, and apparently very rare – basically I’ve got both myeloid and lymphocytic leukaemia all at once.”

“Jesus Christ,” Schuyler said softly. “That’s fucking messed up.”

I nodded, biting down hard on my bottom lip. “That’s not even the worst part, Sky,” I continued, and I swallowed hard before continuing. “The average survival time for this is ten months.”

“Shit,” Schuyler whispered.

“Yeah.” I twisted my bedclothes around my fingers. “I’m fucking terrified, Sky,” I confided. “And not just for me, either – if I don’t make it through this, it’s going to destroy him.” I didn’t bother to say Taylor’s name – I knew that Schuyler could tell who I was referring to. “I know it will. It’d be the same for me if he was the one going through this – we can’t survive without each other. I know that much.”

Schuyler didn’t say anything in response to this. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asked. “We’re supposed to be able to tell each other anything.”

“Because I didn’t want anyone to look at me or treat me differently from anyone else,” I replied. “And believe me, that’s exactly what would have happened. Okay, yeah, I had cancer when I was a kid, but that hardly makes me special.”

“I would never have treated you differently,” Schuyler said. “Never.”

We were both quiet for a little while. Schuyler finally broke our silence after what felt like an eternity.

“So what happens now?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “I’m going to be admitted this afternoon, and an oncologist is going to come around to talk to me after that. Once that happens, I guess I’ll be starting treatment for this.” I pulled gently on a couple of locks of my hair, almost as if I was making sure it was still rooted in place. “Plus my mother reckons she’ll be coming to stay for a while.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Schuyler asked. She sounded tentative. “You’ll get to see your mom.”

“I will, yeah. And it is good that she’ll be coming to stay with Tay and I – with me stuck in here, he’s going to have his hands full even more than usual. And with all the stress that’s going to put him under, I know there’s a chance he’ll have a pretty major flare-up. An extra pair of hands will be a massive help to him.”

“Stress does that to him, yeah,” Schuyler said.

“But on the other hand…sometimes my mother forgets that I’m an adult. I haven’t lived with her or Dad since I finished college, but a lot of the time she still sees me as a little girl who needs to be protected. Same with Dad. And I’m worried that she’ll try to override any decisions I might make about my treatment.”

“I’m sure she’ll back off if you ask her to.”

“Well, considering I told her that she didn’t need to come down here, and yet she’s coming anyway once she’s got her visa sorted, I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as that.”

“She’s only looking out for your wellbeing,” Schuyler said, her tone sensible.

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.

Schuyler gave me a small smile and got to her feet. “I might let you get some rest for a little while. Taylor’s probably still waiting for me downstairs anyway – he said he’d wait for me to talk to you before we headed back to the hotel.”

“Be gentle with him,” I cautioned her before she left my room.

“I will be,” Schuyler promised, and she disappeared into the corridor.

* * *

The next morning, one of the hospital’s oncologists paid me the first of what I knew would be many visits. I’d been half-expecting them to come around to see me right after I’d been admitted, so I was relieved that they had waited until the morning – it had meant that Taylor was able to be with me.

“Now as I understand it, this is your second time in treatment?” the oncologist asked me once introductions had been made. She had given her name as Dr. Rebecca Chambers. On her lap was a folder that I figured contained my medical records.

I nodded. “Yeah. The first time was when I was a kid, between the ages of four and six-and-a-half.”

“Dr. Saville and your GP have both said that your diagnosis as a child was of acute lymphobastic leukaemia – would that be correct?” Dr. Chambers asked, and I gave a sharp nod. “Excellent, we’re all on the same page then. I’ll get straight down to business in that case.

“You’ve presented with quite a rare form of leukaemia, as I’m sure Dr. Saville has told you. And because it exhibits characteristics of the two major types of leukaemia, there are two different ways it can be treated. You’ll have the option of being treated as if you have either myeloid or lymphocytic leukaemia. I’ll leave the final decision up to you, but I believe our best course of action would be for you to undergo treatment more suited to myeloid leukaemia. In the event that this particular form of chemotherapy is unsuccessful, then we may be able to make a second attempt using drugs more suited to treating the lymphocytic form.”

“Let’s assume that Isobel opts to go along with the treatment that you’ve advised,” Taylor said, and I hid a small smile. While I hadn’t expected him to do so, he was taking complete charge of the situation – something I appreciated. He’d dealt with doctors far more often than I had, so he knew how to speak to them so that they took him seriously. I would never have been able to do it myself – I would have found myself tongue-tied whenever I attempted to open my mouth. “What would it involve exactly?”

I nearly burst out laughing when I saw the look on Dr. Chambers’ face. Taylor had only just turned twenty-six three months earlier, and here he was talking to Dr. Chambers as if he were ten or even fifteen years older than that. Dr. Chambers seemed to shake off her surprise quickly enough, though, and she glanced down at the folder she had in her lap.

“Because acute leukaemia is so aggressive, it’s treated in three stages. Those three stages are called induction, consolidation and maintenance. For treating the myeloid form in the first instance we use two drugs, called idarubicin hydrochloride and cytarabine.”

“What happens during induction?” I asked, finally feeling like I wasn’t going to trip over my own words. Taylor might have been taking charge, but I had a right to say what happened with my treatment. It was my body and my life, after all.

“Induction lasts for seven days,” Dr. Chambers replied. “The two drugs are administered differently to one another – you would be receiving the cytarabine as a continuous infusion over that entire period of time, while the idarubicin hydrochloride would be given for thirty minutes at a time on the first, third and fifth days. Consolidation would follow once it’s been confirmed that as many abnormal cells have been destroyed as possible.”

“What if induction doesn’t take?” Taylor asked.

“Then we would allow Isobel to recover from the chemotherapy for a short while, say a week, and we would attempt a second cycle with the same drugs as during the first cycle.”

“What about side effects?” I asked. My next action was completely reflexive – I lifted my right hand up to my head to touch my hair, almost as if I were ensuring that each lock and strand remained firmly rooted in place. I’d already lost it once, and I wasn’t looking forward to losing it all over again.

“I’ll be giving two of you some information about this particular treatment regimen so that you can make an informed decision,” Dr. Chambers replied, “but common side effects for the idarubicin hydrochloride include pain where the drug is administered, low blood counts, nausea, vomiting, hair loss, and abdominal cramps. With the cytarabine, some of the side effects are the same as the idarubicin, namely nausea and vomiting.”

“Are there any other side effects that we should be concerned about?” Taylor asked.

“One uncommon side effect that is particular to idarubicin hydrochloride is a loss of fertility, but it occurs in less than thirty percent of patients. It’s very likely that this particular side effect will not affect Isobel at all.”

“It doesn’t bother me if it does,” I said. “Neither of us want children.” Here I chose to change the subject. “What about after induction, during the consolidation stage – what happens then?”

“There are a number of different routes we could take during consolidation, though the type of consolidation therapy would depend on how well you tolerate the induction chemotherapy,” Dr. Chambers replied. “My usual recommendation is a stem cell transplant.”

“What does that involve?” Taylor asked.

“Isobel would start a regimen of immunosuppressive drugs that would severely compromise and destroy her immune system, so that the chance of the transplanted stem cells being rejected is lessened.” Dr. Chambers looked at me, right into my eyes. “This form of consolidation treatment would require you to be in complete isolation during consolidation, as even the most minor of illnesses could be fatal. Any visitors you might have would be required to cover up so that the risk of infection is decreased as much as possible.”

“Okay,” I whispered, and swallowed hard. Was this how my parents had felt when I was sick all those years ago? “Wh-what else do I need to know? Like, what sort of stem cell transplant would I be having if I decided to have one?”

“That would be up to you. In most cases an allogeneic transplant is performed, though this does depend wholly on being able to locate a suitable donor whose stem cells are as close a match as possible to your own. This is usually a sibling, with an identical twin being the best-case scenario.”

“I don’t have an identical twin, unfortunately,” I said. “Taylor does, but he’s not the one going through this. What if none of my siblings are a match?”

“We would then attempt to locate a suitable unrelated donor. In the event that one cannot be found, I’d recommend that you undergo an autologous transplant – it would use your own stem cells rather than a donor’s.”

“I’ll do it.”

I looked over at Taylor in surprise. “What did you say?” I asked.

“If none of your brothers and sisters are a match, and if I am, because I know that there’s no guarantee I will be…” I watched as his eyes dropped closed for the briefest of moments. “I’ll be your donor, Issie.”

“Are you sure?” I asked him. “This is big, Tay – I don’t want you to do this if it’s going to make you even more sick than you are already.”

“I’m absolutely positive,” he replied. “I’ll go and see Dr. Sommers to make sure it’s not going to make things worse. If she’s okay with it, then I’m in.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Taylor shook his head. “Dr. Chambers, could Isobel and I talk about this between ourselves for a little bit?” he asked.

“Oh yes, of course.” Dr. Chambers rose from her seat and opened her folder, taking out a stapled-together sheaf of paper. “Have a read through this, and when you’ve made a decision about your treatment let me know.”

Dr. Chambers took her leave after that. I proceeded to spend the next minute and a half leafing through the sheaf of what I now realised were computer printouts, beginning to feel more than just a little intimidated. What I now faced…this was major. There was a very real possibility that I would not live to see the end of this – I was more aware of that than most. I’d been incredibly lucky the first time I had faced this, and I knew that this time the odds might not be in my favour.

“Issie?”

It wasn’t hard to hear the concern in Taylor’s voice. I put the papers down on my lap and looked over at him. “I’m fucking terrified, Tay,” I whispered. “I-I don’t know if I want to do this…”

Taylor got up out of his seat and motioned for me to shift over a little bit. Once I’d done so, he got up on my bed and settled himself next to me. “Yes, you do,” he said in a low voice, pitched so that if there had been anyone else in the room with us, only I would be able to hear what he was saying. He drew me a little closer to his side, and I automatically rested my head on his left shoulder. “For your own sake, you _need_ to do this. Take your music as an example. I’ve been to every single performance by Sincerity ever since you started playing live with the other girls, and I can tell that you are intensely passionate about your music. I figure that’s one of the reasons they asked you to join. You put your entire heart and soul into it – that much is obvious to everyone. You were born to be a musician and a performer, Issie, even more than you were to be a journalist.” I felt him pulling gently on one of my curls, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him twisting it around one of his fingers. “Do you really want to leave all of that behind? Because if you don’t go ahead with this, that’s what’s going to happen.”

It didn’t take me very long to realise the truth in what Taylor was saying to me. He was right, more so than he usually was – I did love music and performing, both of them far too much to want to give them up without one hell of a fight. If I didn’t go ahead with this, then that was exactly what would end up happening. To give up now meant that I would lose more than just one battle.

“I don’t want to leave that behind,” I said quietly. “I don’t want to leave _you_ behind either. I just…I don’t know if I’m strong enough for it. I barely survived last time – this is going to be an even harder battle.”

“You are strong enough,” Taylor assured me. “Trust me on that. You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you? That takes a _hell_ of a lot of strength – I know how difficult it is.” His tone turned serious. “You need to fight this and get better, Issie. I’m not asking for a miracle, because I know that there’s no such thing. All I want from you is for you to give this your best shot – to fight this battle for as long and as hard as you can. That’s all I’m asking.”

I bit my bottom lip and nodded. “All right,” I agreed, before looking up at him again. “Did you mean what you said before?” I asked.

Taylor nodded. “I meant every word. I _want_ to do this, Issie. I already decided months ago that I’d volunteer if it came down to it, after you told me what happened to you when you were a kid. And I meant every word that I said to you when I asked you to marry me – I love you with everything that I am. That’s the main reason I want to do this – because I love you, and I don’t want to lose you without one hell of a fight.”

“There’s another reason too,” I guessed. “Spit it out, Jordan.”

“Nailed it,” he said, quiet laughter in his tone. Here he drew away from me slightly, and I lifted my head up off his shoulder so that I could see his face. His eyes locked right onto mine, his bright blue burning into my hazel for what felt like a lifetime.

“You saved my life a couple of months ago, Isobel,” he said. He was deadly serious now, and I knew that nothing I said would be able to dissuade him from the path he had chosen to walk. If there was one thing that Taylor was more than almost anything else, it was stubborn. “I wouldn’t be here right now if you hadn’t, and I will always be grateful to you for that.” He paused briefly. “Now I want to try and save yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:** _Make This Go On Forever_ \- Snow Patrol
> 
> \+ This chapter was a difficult one to write, NaNoWriMo notwithstanding - I know exactly how this story ends (and am one of only two people who does know at this point), so I think I was unconsciously putting off working on it. A tiny non-spoilery hint - this is _not_ going to be a happy story.


	3. 3. ...everything to me

_Taylor_

I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket as I left Isobel’s hospital room, closing the door carefully behind me once I had stepped out into the corridor. She had dozed off not long beforehand, and knowing she needed to rest I had let her sleep. With everything that was going to be crashing down on her soon enough – on both of us – I knew that she was going to need as much rest as she could get before her own personal hell started all over again.

By the time I got around to checking my phone, I had left the hospital and had started heading down Missenden Road toward Macdonaldtown train station. It was time for me to head home, with my first stop being my brothers’ apartment so I could pick up the rest of my things. Once I got home I planned to gather together some of Isobel’s belongings so that she had something in her hospital room to make the stark, sterile space feel a little more like home. There was also the issue of my upcoming doctor’s appointment, one that had been made weeks ago while we’d still been on the road.

As it turned out, it was a text message that had landed in my phone’s inbox – one that had come from Mark. _Meeting w/ red cross went well. 2nd meeting set for nxt tues. Meeting w/ wildlife victoria after lunch today. How’s isobel?_

I waited until I was at the train station and had bought my ticket home before I replied to Mark’s message. My thumbs tapped almost frantically at my phone’s keypad, as if the speed of my reply were imperative to my continued existence. **_Isobel is doing ok. Am heading back to the hotel then home – have a dr’s appt tomorrow morning. When are you coming back to sydney?_** I sent the message just as the train I was to catch rolled into the station, gliding to a stop alongside platform one. Nobody disembarked from the train, and only one other person aside from me got on. The carriage doors slid shut right as I seated myself on the lower deck, and I settled in for the trip back into the city.

Mark’s reply to my text message came just as the train arrived at Redfern station. _Wednesday morning – annie got us tickets to game 2 of the state of origin that night. No idea what was going thru her head, for some reason she thinks we need to see how ‘real’ football is played. *eyeroll* we fly out to auckland thurs afternoon._

I bit back a snort of laughter. Leave it to Mark to complain about getting a free night out. Deciding that Mark’s message wasn’t worth the twenty-five cents it would cost me to reply I clicked out of it, folded my phone closed, and slipped it back into my pocket.

It wasn’t long before I was back in the city and off the train, heading down the street toward the hotel. My hands were back in my pockets, my head was bowed against the wind, and the hood of my jacket was pulled up just far enough over my head that it shielded my ears from the cold. It didn’t matter where in the world I found myself, I still hated winter. Having Isobel in my life made it a little easier to bear, but not even she could chase the worst of the cold away – I couldn’t even do that for myself.

It didn’t take me long to walk back to the hotel. Right as I got to my brothers’ apartment and dug the keycard that Mark had given to me the evening before out of my wallet, the door opened and I found myself face-to-face with my mother.

“Hey Ma,” I said quietly.

“Is everything all right?” she asked as I stepped through the doorway.

For a split second I thought about lying to her. “No,” I admitted. “It’s not all right.”

“Oh dear,” Mom said softly, and she guided me over to sit down on the couch. “You sit – I’ll make you some tea.”

“Mom, you don’t need to do that,” I protested, even though I knew it would fall on deaf ears. I let out a quiet breath as I heard my mother begin to move around the kitchen. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be getting home anytime soon.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked once Mom was done in the kitchen. She set a steaming mug of tea down on the coffee table and sat down next to me.

“Your dad decided a day at the aquarium was in order,” she replied. “And I assume you know where your brothers are.”

I nodded. “So you stayed here to hold down the fort?”

“In case you came back early,” she replied. “How’s Isobel?”

“She’s scared,” I answered. “I don’t blame her, to be honest. I am too. This is massive – we both know there’s a decent chance she might not make it out the other side.” I leaned forward a little and picked up the mug, holding it gingerly so it didn’t burn my hands. “Basically if she’s going to have any hope of beating it, she’ll need to have a stem cell transplant done at some point.”

I fell silent at this point, choosing to focus on drinking my tea. Only once I had finished half of it did I speak again.

“I volunteered myself, Mom.”

I could tell right away that my mother was taken aback. “What did you volunteer yourself for?” she asked.

“There’s a chance Isobel’s siblings won’t be matches for her. If that ends up being the case, and I turn out to be a match…” I scuffed the toe of my right sneaker along the carpet. “I’ve offered to donate some of my stem cells.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this? This is a huge commitment, Taylor.”

“I know that, and I’ve promised Issie that I’ll discuss it with Dr. Sommers first. I’m fully prepared to do it, I just need the go-ahead from my doctor.” I set my mug back down on the coffee table. “The evening that the tour started, a couple of hours after Issie told me what happened when she was a kid, I decided that if it came down to it I’d put my hand up. I can’t lose her, Mom – she’s my whole world. I’m not sure I could survive if she doesn’t make it through this.”

“I know that, Tay,” Mom said. “I know. But it’s not just Isobel’s health that’s at stake here – it’s yours as well.”

“Which is why I’m only going to do it if Dr. Sommers says it won’t make the chronic fatigue any worse than it already is. If she doesn’t think it’s a good idea, I won’t put my hand up.” I fell quiet once again. “Issie saved my life, Ma,” I said finally. “The night of her birthday, when I went into anaphylactic shock, she was the one who brought me back. That’s why this is so important to me. She’s already saved me once, and now I want to try to save her. I know there’s no guarantee whatsoever that I’ll be able to, but…” I trailed off and started staring at the carpet.

“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Taylor,” Mom told me. “Or to anyone else for that matter. I just want you to be absolutely certain that this is what you want.”

“It is,” I said. “Aside from knowing I want to be with Issie for as long as I live, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Once I’d finished my tea I set about gathering up all the bits and pieces I’d left scattered around the apartment over the last few days, stowing them all in my backpack. As much as I wanted to stay close to Isobel, I did need to go home at some point. Not only did I have an insane amount of errands that needed to be taken care of, but I was fed up with sleeping on the couch.

“I’ll probably be back here in a few days,” I said once I’d packed my backpack and zipped it closed. “You’ll all be going home at the end of the month, right?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Mom said. At these words she stepped forward and drew me into a tight embrace. “I’m proud of you, Taylor. Be careful heading home.”

“I will,” I promised. “I’ll text you as soon as I get there.”

I ended up catching the twenty to twelve train from Wynyard to Central, with the intent of catching the next train home from there. A check of the South Coast Line timetable that I kept in a pocket of my backpack revealed that my intended train back down the coast didn’t go precisely where I needed it to.

“Oh for fuck’s _sake_ ,” I groaned when I saw the trains I needed to catch to get home – the twelve-thirty all-stops train to Port Kembla, with a change at Wollongong just after a quarter past two so that I could get back to Albion Park. I wasn’t going to make it home until almost three o’clock. I was already exhausted and in desperate need of sleep, so this was the absolute last thing I needed right now. As much as I hated that I needed to catch two trains just to get home, I didn’t have much of a choice unless I wanted to wait another hour or so. And that was something I definitely wasn’t prepared to do. I made a quick mental note of the two trains I needed to catch and headed off through the station toward the main concourse.

Roughly half an hour later, my phone vibrated in my pocket as I hurried through the ticket barrier that separated the main concourse from the platforms, blaring out a very muffled version of my ringtone for all and sundry to hear. I dragged it from my pocket and flipped it open so that I could answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Mark.”

“Hey Mark,” I said a little distractedly as I ran down platform 14 alongside the train I was catching home. “What’s up?”

“Not much. We’re just about to go and meet with Wildlife Victoria,” my twin replied. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, just trying to catch my train home.” I finally reached the second carriage from the front and hopped on, going straight down to the lower deck of the train. Thankfully it was more or less deserted, and I managed to find a seat quickly. “What did the Red Cross say?”

“More or less it was what we had discussed with them before the tour began, only this time we got to do it face to face,” Mark replied as I got myself settled. “Basically it was a discussion on how the donated funds will be used. We want to do this right so we got it all down in writing as well. We’re going to be doing the same with Wildlife Victoria in a few minutes.”

“Gotcha,” I said, understanding somewhat. “I might let you guys go then.”

“I’ll probably drop you a line sometime this evening,” Mark said right before we hung up. “Do you think you’ll be up?”

“I don’t know, if I’m going to be honest with you,” I answered. “I’m utterly exhausted – odds are I’ll crash as soon as I’m home. I doubt I’ll be awake before tomorrow morning.”

“Well if I can’t get hold of you tonight, I’ll try again tomorrow. Don’t make yourself stay up on my account.”

I managed a small smile, even though I knew Mark couldn’t see it. “Thanks, Mark.”

I ended up falling asleep as the train rolled out of Redfern station, managing to wake up right as the train arrived at Fairy Meadow. That was my cue to get all of my bits and pieces packed away – I would be getting off the train at Wollongong, two stations down the line, and I didn’t want to miss my stop.

It was almost a quarter to three by the time my train made it to Albion Park. I had never been more relieved to be close to home, and I was even more relieved to see that my car was still where I had parked it three days earlier. _Thank God for small mercies_ , I thought wearily as I tossed my backpack into the backseat and slid into the driver’s seat. By now I was well beyond exhausted. How I was going to make it the ten minutes’ drive home without falling asleep behind the wheel, I really didn’t know, but if I wanted to sleep in my own bed anytime soon I didn’t really have much of a choice. Without really thinking about it I pulled my keys from a pocket of my hoodie and thumbed through them, found my car key and stuck it into the ignition.

I could hear Ratchet start barking almost as soon as I rounded the corner from Calderwood Road into Taylor Road. The sound grew even louder when I pulled my car into the driveway at home, and I bit back a smile. It was almost like she knew when I was home or near enough to it.

“Ratchet, quiet,” I called out once I was out of the car and had retrieved my backpack from the backseat. I elbowed both the driver’s side and back doors closed, locked up and climbed up onto the front porch, ducking under the railing so that I didn’t hit my head. I might have needed to sleep but it didn’t mean I wanted to be knocked out for it to happen. I soon had the front doors unlocked and open, and dropped my backpack by the side of the couch before closing and locking up behind myself.

Once I’d made a detour to the laundry to grab some clean clothes to change into – I’d reasoned that a shower could wait until I was actually awake – and had let Ratchet inside, I wandered upstairs to mine and Isobel’s bedroom. I toed off my sneakers and socks, changed out of my jeans, hoodie and T-shirt into cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt, and crawled into bed. My gaze landed on the framed photograph of Isobel I kept on my bedside table, and I automatically reached out to it. I already missed her – I always did when we had to be apart.

“Miss you Issie,” I whispered seconds before I fell into a much-needed sleep.

* * *

What woke me up an indeterminate number of hours later wasn’t my alarm clock as usual, but instead something cold and wet pressing itself against my face. I cracked one eye open and glanced to my right to see Ratchet staring at me.

“Ratch, get down,” I mumbled. “You know you’re not supposed to get up on the bed.” She didn’t move, just kept on staring at me. “D’you want to go outside?” I asked. This seemed to get her attention, and she scrambled to the end of my bed so that she could jump down. I let out a low, rough chuckle and forced myself to sit up. One glance at my clock radio had me groaning.

“It’s too fucking early for this,” I mumbled. The glowing red digits read _6:45_.

After I had let Ratchet out into the backyard, and once I’d taken my medication, I sat down in my usual seat at the kitchen table and started going through my text messages. There weren’t many – a couple from Mark, one each from my mother and my father, and one from Isobel. I opened the message from Isobel before I opened any of the others. _Have decided to go ahead w/ the chemo_ , it read. _Am v.nervous though. When do you think you’ll be coming back to sydney?_

The message had been sent late the night before. I quickly typed out a reply, thumbs moving around the keypad of my phone as if they were possessed. **_Am probably coming back in a couple days. Have to go see dr sommers this morning. I can come back earlier if you need me to._** Almost as an afterthought I added, **_Sorry for not txting till now. Got home @ abt 3 yesterday and went straight to bed. Didn’t wake up again until abt 15 mins ago._**

I sent the message and folded my phone closed again, setting it down on the table within reach. I wanted badly to go back to bed and get a few more hours of sleep, but I knew from experience that if I did that I wouldn’t get up in time for my doctor’s appointment. Not even if I set my alarm for the time I wanted to wake up.

My phone’s text message tone sounded off right as I dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, set it to one of the lower settings and pushed down the lever. I thumbed my phone open and opened the message that had arrived to find that it was from Isobel. _Figured that was why you didn’t answer last night. ;) can you come back up this afternoon and maybe stay overnight? Dr chambers told me yesterday after you left that if i decide to do chemo, she wants me to start it tomorrow morning. & i really want you here when it starts._

I leaned against the kitchen bench and tapped out a reply, ignoring the toaster when it popped up with my breakfast. **_Of course i’ll come up this afternoon. I’ll even bring ratchet this time. :) i’ll ask dr sommers today about what i promised. I’ll let you know when i’m on my way._** Once the message was sent, I rescued my breakfast from the toaster and set about making my toast the way I liked it.

At a quarter to nine I walked into the Wollongong Medical Centre for my appointment. Ratchet kept pace at my side, her leash wound loosely around my right hand. The medical centre’s waiting room was packed with people that morning, mostly parents with young children, and I bit back a groan. This was as close to my idea of hell as it was possible to get on a Friday morning.

“I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Sommers at nine o’clock,” I told one of the receptionists. As I spoke I thumbed my Medicare card out of my wallet.

“Your name, please?”

“Taylor Hanson,” I replied, and handed my Medicare card over the counter. The receptionist swiped it into her computer and tapped away at her keyboard a couple of times.

“Take a seat – Dr. Sommers will be with you shortly,” she said, and handed my Medicare card back to me.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile and headed off to find somewhere to sit. I wanted dearly to dig out my iPod and crank up the volume to block out all the noise and the chatter around me, but I knew I had to pay attention. Instead, I picked up a copy of _Australian Geographic_ from a stack of magazines next to my seat and settled for reading it, in between glancing at the wall-mounted TV every few minutes and glaring at any kid who came a little too close to me.

It wasn’t too long before I heard my name being called out, and I was soon following Dr. Sommers down a short corridor to her office, Ratchet keeping pace at my side.

“How are you today?” Dr. Sommers asked once her office door was closed and we had taken our seats – Dr. Sommers at her desk, and me in a chair that had been placed perpendicular to the end of her desk, my back to the wall. On her desk, out of the corner of my eye, I could see a manila folder that had **HANSON, JORDAN TAYLOR** written on its cover in thick black letters.

“I’m doing okay, all things considered,” I replied. “The last few days have been utterly insane. My wife’s in hospital up in Sydney, and yesterday was the first time I’d been home in a couple of days.” I took my glasses off just long enough to rub at my eyes with the heel of my right hand. “Almost as soon as I got home yesterday afternoon, a bit before three, I went to bed and didn’t wake up until a quarter to seven this morning.”

Dr. Sommers smiled a little. “Clearly you needed to sleep that long,” she commented.

“I guess I did.” I managed a smile of my own. “I haven’t been sleeping well the last few days, mostly out of worry. I think I just needed to be in my own bed.”

“It seems that way to me. Now, how have you been feeling since your last appointment? Anything in particular you’re concerned about?”

I shook my head this time. “I’m feeling good. I’m getting tired a little more quickly than normal, but I think I just need to take things slower than I have been. I’ve already landed myself in hospital once this year, and I really don’t want to go back anytime soon.”

“I don’t believe you need to be in hospital right now. Just keep in mind that you do need to pace yourself and pay attention to what your body is telling you. If you need to rest, then you need to rest.”

I forced a smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“And how have you been handling your medication?”

“It’s helping a lot. I don’t feel like the dosage needs to be altered just yet, but if I change my mind I’ll let you know straight away.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Sommers opened my folder and wrote something down on the inside of the front cover. “Now, before I give you a quick check-up, is there anything you need to discuss with me?”

“There is, actually,” I replied, and I swallowed hard. “Isobel was diagnosed a few days ago with leukaemia. Her oncologist told us that if she’s to make remission, she’ll probably need a stem cell transplant at some point. And, well…” I rubbed at the back of my neck, feeling a little nervous. “I volunteered myself as a potential donor.”

“I see,” Dr. Sommers said.

“There’s no guarantee whatsoever that I would be called upon – any of her siblings could be a match, but if it comes down to it I don’t want her to be left without any options.” I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. “Do you think that it could have an adverse effect on my illness?”

Dr. Sommers seemed to consider my question for a little while. “I don’t see why it would,” she said at last. “You may need to stop taking your medication for a couple of days in the event that you’re called upon to donate, but I’d advise you to speak with your wife’s doctors about it. They would be able to tell you more than I can.”

“I will,” I promised.

I was turned loose not long after that, and on my way out onto Crown Street I started tapping out a message to Isobel one-handed. _Am on my way to sydney. Going to drive up this time, am in no mood to be spending more time on the train than i need to. See you in a couple hours :) xo_

Isobel’s response came just as I arrived back at my car and was buckling Ratchet into the backseat. I didn’t open the message until I was behind the wheel with the door closed. **_How did it go w/ dr sommers? Please be careful driving, we don’t need you in the hospital as well. Love you :) xo_**

I fired off a short message in reply, intending for it to be the last until I got to Sydney. _Appt went ok. Have dr sommers’ ok to donate if i’m a match. Will tell you more when i get to the hospital. :)_

Isobel was asleep when I arrived at her room in the Sydney Cancer Centre just before lunch time, though as soon as I slipped through the doorway she stirred into wakefulness. “Hey,” she whispered when I was close enough to hear her. I dropped to my knees at her bedside and tucked a few wayward curls behind her ears.

“Hey beautiful,” I said, and she smiled a little. “Everything okay?”

“I’m sore, if that counts.” I watched her wince a little. “I’m aching all over because of this fucking bed. Plus I had my central line put in this morning, and I only had a local for that.” She rolled her right shoulder almost experimentally, as if she was worried it would dislocate at the slightest amount of movement.

“Your what?” I asked, half a second before I saw the four thin plastic tubes coming out of her neck just above her right collarbone. The spot where they exited her skin was surrounded by a taped-down bandage. “What the hell is that?”

Isobel laughed quietly. “It’s my central line. It’ll be a lot better for me than being jabbed with needles all the time.” She shifted onto her back and pressed a button on a remote she held in her left hand, raising the head of her bed up far enough so that she could sit up. “That’s better,” she said in obvious relief. “Dr. Chambers explained what each of them is for before I had it put in. Two of them are for my chemo – one’s for the drug I’ll be on twenty-four hours a day, the second’s for the half-hour one I’m getting every other day – one’s for painkillers and antibiotics if I need them, and the fourth’s for having blood drawn. Didn’t hurt when it was being put in, but it fucking does now.”

“I bet,” I commented sympathetically.

Here Isobel swiped a hand over her eyes. “I hate this, Tay,” she whispered. “I fucking hate what this is going to do to me. I have absolutely no illusions about that – it’s going to be fucking hard, and it’s going to completely screw me around.” She drew in a shaky breath. “You don’t need this right now – my _family_ doesn’t need this right now. We’ve already done this shit once, why the fuck do we have to do this again?”

“Shh,” I whispered. I straightened up and pulled over a chair so that I could sit down in it. “It’s going to be all right, Issie – you’re going to kick this thing’s ass. I know you will.”

“I hope you’re right, Jordan,” she said. “It’s just…this?” She flicked her central line with the fingers of her left hand. “This is proof of how fucking sick I am right now. I want to just rip it right out of me, but I can’t. It…it’s part of me, at least for now.” She slid down in her bed and covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to do this, Tay,” I heard her whisper, her voice muffled.

I didn’t say a word. Instead I got up out of my seat and climbed up onto Isobel’s bed, settling myself next to her and drawing her close. My right thumb drew lazy circles on her shoulder as she curled herself up against my side.

I could never have imagined any of this when I had met Isobel, when I had asked her to be my girlfriend or to marry me – not even when I had said my vows on our wedding day barely six months earlier. The sheer prospect of losing her had been completely unfathomable at that point. As much as I didn’t want to believe it, I knew that losing her was now a distant possibility – hopefully one that was _very_ distant, but I was well aware it might be closer than I wanted it to be. And that wasn’t something I was prepared for.

I brushed her hair aside and kissed her left temple briefly. Whatever the next few months brought with them, Isobel and I would face it together – for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:** _Dreams_ \- The Cranberries
> 
> \+ The State of Origin is an annual three-game series that has been a part of the National Rugby League every year since 1980, contested between teams of players who played their senior games of rugby league in either New South Wales or Queensland. Game 3 of the 2009 State of Origin series was played on the evening of June 17 2009.  
> 


	4. Down roads been walked before

_Isobel_

My own personal hell began all over again the next morning.

I could feel a hand smoothing my hair back off my forehead as I drifted awake from my nap, and I opened my eyes to see Taylor and Jack sitting at my bedside. “Hey,” I murmured. I dug at my left eye with the heel of my left hand in an attempt to wake up a little. “What’re you two doin’ here?”

“Visiting you,” Jack replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Plus we had a chat with your doctor this morning.”

“What about?” I asked as I eased myself upright, my joints screaming in protest the whole way.

“I’m going to be tested as well,” my brother replied. “I had a chat to Mum and Dad this morning, and as it turns out…” He raked a hand back through his short blonde hair. “None of our sibs are matches for you. Mum said that they were all tested the last time you were sick.”

“Even our sisters?” I asked. “But they would have been, what…” I trailed off as I did a few quick mental calculations. “Thirteen, ten and eight, right?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied with a nod. “Mum told me that your doctor back then said it was just in case, but nothing came of it.” He shrugged. “And they thought I was too young. Turns out you didn’t need it at the time, but seeing as you do now…”

“Thanks, Jack,” I said with a small smile. “As long as you’re positive you want to do this.”

“I’m totally sure,” he assured me. “You’re my big sister, Bella – I love you too much to lose you like this.”

“Don’t call me Bella,” I chided mildly, before glancing over at Taylor. “You’re quiet,” I commented.

He gave me a small smile. “I’m just tired, Issie,” he said. “Been a long day so far.”

I sneaked a glance at Jack’s watch. “Tay, it’s only a quarter to twelve.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been up since five,” he grumbled. As he said this, I could see just how tired he was. His eyes and his hands were a dead giveaway – the usual bright blue of his eyes had dulled to a washed-out grey, and when I looked closely enough I could see his hands shaking a little. ‘Tired’ was a serious understatement, I felt – he was so far beyond exhausted it was ridiculous.

“Tay, why don’t you and Jack go back to the hotel,” I suggested gently. “You need to sleep.”

He shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said softly. “I’ll sleep tonight.”

“No, you won’t,” I disagreed. “I know you, Taylor – you’ll be too damn worried to sleep.” I nodded toward the recliner next to my bed. “If you’re not going to go back to the hotel, at least get some sleep here.”

t was a mark of how tired he truly was that he didn’t protest this time. Instead he got up from his seat and sat down in my recliner, cranked it back so it was almost flat and shifted onto his right side. He was asleep almost straight away.

“He’s really sick, isn’t he?” Jack asked quietly.

“He’s been better,” I said evasively.

“That’s not what I asked you, Isobel.”

I glared at my brother briefly. “He’s pretty sick, yeah,” I finally replied. “Schuyler told me a couple of years ago about the summer she met him for the first time. Basically if he pushes himself too hard or too far, or if he’s stressed out too badly, he has a severe flare-up. I’m pretty sure he’s getting close to another one now.” I ran a finger along the IV that was in the back of my right hand, tracing the thin clear tube. “Mum’s still coming down, right?”

“That’s what she told me,” Jack replied. “Her visa got approved a few days ago – she said she’s going to try to be on the next flight out from New York.”

“Good,” I mumbled.

My brother chuckled quietly. “Never thought I’d hear you say that. Normally you hate it when she ‘interferes’, as you so kindly put it.”

“Sometimes I need my mum,” I said with a shrug, feeling a little defensive.

Jack raised his hands before himself in what I guessed was self-defence, his palms facing me. “No need to justify yourself to me, sis,” he said, before swiftly changing the subject. “So have you started yet?”

It was clear what he was asking about, so I didn’t bother asking him to clarify anything for me. Instead, I nodded. “My doctor came and hooked me up to it just after breakfast. I have to have another dose at around lunch time. I’m going to be on it all for a week.” I barked out a laugh. “That’s one week too fucking long if you ask me.”

Jack had just opened his mouth again when a knock sounded at the door of my room, and in walked Dr. Chambers. “Good afternoon Isobel,” she greeted me cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Miserable,” I replied truthfully. I really did feel completely rotten, but I was doing my best to hide it from Jack and Taylor. At least for now I was.

“That should pass soon enough.” She looked at Jack and Taylor. “Unfortunately I need to ask your visitors to leave for the time being – they’ll be more than welcome to return later on today.”

“Well, I know when I’m not wanted,” Jack joked, and he rose from his seat before leaning over to shake Taylor awake. “We gotta get outta here,” Jack said once Taylor had woken up.

“Make sure he gets some sleep,” I said to Jack right before he and Taylor left.

“I’ll let his mum know,” Jack assured me. “I’m sure she’ll make him take a nice long nap.”

“Oh, she will,” I said as I hugged my brother tightly. “ _Won’t_ she, Taylor?” I asked pointedly, raising the volume of my voice a few notches.

“Aren’t you supposed to defend me against your brothers?” Taylor asked once Jack had stepped away from my side.

“Not always,” I said sweetly. “ _Please_ get some sleep, Taylor,” I added in a low voice. “You’re going to end up in hospital as well if you aren’t careful, and nobody wants that to happen.”

He managed a small, tired smile. “I’ll try my best.”

It was the best I could hope for right now, I knew that much, so I didn’t push the matter. “That’s all I want from you,” I assured him, and I gave him the tightest hug that I could manage. “I’ll see you later.”

Taylor and Jack were soon gone, and Dr. Chambers took up a seat at my bedside. “I’ll be administering your first dose of the second drug soon,” she said. “Before I do, however, is there anything you would like to discuss with me?”

“There is, yeah,” I replied. “My brother just told me that none of our older siblings are matches for me – how common is that?”

“A lot more than you might think it is,” Dr. Chambers replied. “You might have the same blood type as one or more of your siblings, but there’s only a one-in-four chance that they’ll be a suitable donor. It’s entirely possible that your younger brother – Jack, was it?” I nodded. “Jack may not be a match either, so an unrelated donor may just be your best chance at achieving a successful transplant.” She gave me a smile. “But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I want you to focus on induction. All right?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Dr. Chambers left briefly at that moment, soon returning with the paraphernalia that was required for my second dose of chemotherapy. As she got everything ready I got out of bed and settled myself in my recliner. “This won’t take very long,” she said as she hooked my central line up to the chemotherapy. “You’ll be able to go back to bed once it’s finished.”

After I’d received my chemotherapy, I climbed back into bed and curled up on my side, already beginning to feel miserable again. “I’ll leave you to get some rest,” Dr. Chambers said as I pulled my covers up over myself. “If you need anything, press your call button – one of the nurses will be in as soon as possible. I’ll be in later today to see how you’re going.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled as my eyes slid shut, and I heard the door to my room snick closed right before I slipped into sleep.

I had no way of telling exactly how long I’d been asleep, but when I heard something buzzing its way around the top drawer of my night table I knew I was being woken up earlier than I was ready. The buzzing was accompanied by the muffled third verse of Hanson’s version of _Never Been To Spain_ , and I winced involuntarily – I’d left my phone on, and I wasn’t supposed to.

“Damnit,” I groaned, and forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. I fumbled around blindly for the handle on the drawer of my night table, sliding it open once I’d found it, and grabbed hold of my phone. It didn’t even cross my mind to check who was calling before I flipped my phone open and answered it. “H’lo?”

“Jesus Christ Bel, you sound like shit.”

 _That_ woke me up. “Martin?” I asked in surprise.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” my oldest brother remarked. “How are you?”

I didn’t reply until I was lying back down again. “I’ve been better,” I answered. “I started chemo this morning, so that’s doing a number on me already. Not to mention my head is pounding like someone’s been attacking it with a fucking jackhammer and I feel like I’m going to hurl.”

“That’ll pass eventually,” Martin said. “You’ve been through this before, you know what it’s like.”

“I wish I didn’t know what it’s like,” I said quietly.

“Yeah, I know you do sis. I know it sucks. How’s Taylor handling it all?”

I rubbed at my eyes with my free hand. “I don’t think he’s handling it so well at all,” I admitted. “He…” My voice trailed off and I let out a sigh. “He’s running himself completely to exhaustion, and I’m worried that he’s going to end up in hospital again. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“He has chronic fatigue syndrome, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “It got worse a month or so ago. And it scares me, Martin – he had a massive crash a bit more than a year-and-a-half ago. The last one before that, that I know of anyway, was in 2002.” I didn’t speak for a few moments. “I think he’s getting even worse than he’s letting on to me,” I said at last. “And he tells me quite a bit.”

“Talk to him,” Martin advised. “Tell him how worried you are. He’s a guy, Isobel – we can be pretty clueless at the best of times.”

“I’m going to have to, I think.”

We talked for about ten minutes longer, until I felt my eyes begin to slide closed and I couldn’t keep from yawning. “I need t’get some sleep,” I said drowsily, my words running together. “Talk to you later, yeah?” These five words were said in a hopeful tone of voice, as if I believed he was going to tell me otherwise.

“Definitely. I’ll try and call again on the weekend, if you think you’ll be up for it.”

“I should be. ‘Least I hope so.” My eyes fell closed, and I forced them back open again. “Love ya Martin.”

Martin let out a quiet laugh. “Love you too, Bel.”

We hung up at about the same moment. It was all I could do to fumble for the off switch and put my phone back in its drawer before sleep claimed me.

* * *

If someone had asked me what the rest of that week was like, I couldn’t have told them. Each day melted into the next. I spent a great deal of my time sleeping off the effects of the chemotherapy, and when I wasn’t asleep I was either throwing up or mindlessly listening to one of the playlists that Taylor had put together and loaded onto my iPod.

Near the end of that week, I woke up sometime during the night. My room’s sole source of light came from the corridor – a narrow strip of yellow light that bled through the gap beneath the door and spilled into the darkness. The blinds at my window were shut, with none of the light from the city creeping its way through even the tiniest rip, tear or split in the fabric.

Once I was awake enough to fumble around for my watch and check the time, I bit back a groan. It was almost one-thirty in the morning. There was no way I should even have been up, and yet here I was – completely wide awake, and I didn’t see myself going back to sleep any time soon.

I eased myself upright and used the backlight on my watch to find the drawer in my night table. If nothing else, I could check my email and text messages until I was tired enough to go back to sleep. It had worked a treat during tour, so I didn’t see why it wouldn’t work now. I was hoping I had at least one message from Taylor, particularly given his habit of burning through his phone credit whenever he was bored and had nothing better to do.

I was in luck. As soon as my phone had been switched on it started vibrating in my hand, its screen announcing that I had two new text messages. And sure enough, one of them was from Taylor.

_Hey Issie. I know you’re not answering your phone right now, not that i can blame you much. Just letting you know that i left you a couple of voicemails. :) Have a listen and let me know what you think whenever it is that you get this. Love you. :)_

I smiled as I finished reading, and clicked back out of it so I could read the second message. **_You’ve got 2 new V-mails. All V-mail is free in Oz with Virgin Mobile. Just call 212 to collect your messages._**

“Someone’s been busy,” I murmured as I clicked out of my inbox and dialled 212 so I could retrieve my voicemails. As I listened to the first message, I settled back against my pillows and closed my eyes, allowing Taylor’s voice to wash over me.

“Hopefully this works, because my phone’s acting up and it keeps cutting me off in the middle of phone calls for some reason. But anyway…with all the downtime I’ve had lately I’ve had a lot of time to think, and somehow that thinking time has ended up as writing time.” He let out a quiet laugh. “Not that I’m complaining much. I actually wrote this one down, so be proud of me for that.” I grinned at this. “Here goes nothing.”

He went silent, and I heard the sound of an acoustic guitar. It wasn’t long afterward that I heard him begin to sing.

“I know what it’s like to be forgotten…left alone with your simple dreams…even they are fading fast…no-one to turn to, no-one to hold at night…and waking up to another day that’ll soon be over…and if you think time has forgotten you…well just look into my eyes and see the love we share…

“Don’t hold back your love, ‘cause I know it’s here…I wanna see it come to life before my eyes…

“Don’t be mistaken, there’s still work to do…gotta get up every single day and face the judge and jury…no one will notice, they’ve got their own lives…we got somethin’ they ain’t got…someday it’ll be their surprise…and if you think there is no place to run…just hold on to my hand and face the melting sun…

“Don’t hold back your love, ‘cause I know it’s here…I wanna see it come to life before my eyes…don’t hold back your love, show me your heart…and I will always be here by your side…

“One more chance to find the middle ground…one more chance before the sun goes down…one more night to hold you in my arms again…

“Don’t hold back your love, ‘cause I know it’s here…I wanna see it come to life before my eyes…don’t hold back your love, show me your heart…and I will always be here by your side…

“Don’t hold back your love…don’t hold back your love, show me your heart…I will always be here by your side…don’t hold back your love…don’t hold back your love, show me your heart…see it come to life before my eyes…don’t hold back your love, don’t hold back your love…don’t hold back your love, don’t hold back your love…”

Here the voicemail cut off, and the second message started to play.

“Stupid bastard thing cut me off,” Taylor grumbled, and I bit back a laugh. “But anyway, there you have it. I’m going to see if I can find a bit of time to make a proper recording, which hopefully will be very soon.” His tone was turning sleepy now. “I need to get some sleep, so I’ll leave this here now. I’m going to be a wreck in the morning if I don’t. I’ll see you soon – love you Issie.”

The message ended there, and I saved both voicemails before hanging up. Rather than attempt sleep, I opened my inbox and tapped out a new text message.

**_Just heard your new song. I love it – it’s wonderful. :) Thank you for playing it for me._ **

Once the message was sent, I turned my phone off once more and returned it to its drawer.

An instant before I settled down to try and go back to sleep, I felt it – the horrible feeling, all too familiar by this point, that I was going to throw up. I wanted badly to ignore it, but maybe it was better that it was coming on now – it would have woken me anyway if I was asleep.

I kicked my covers off and sat up, swinging my bare feet over the side of my mattress, and glanced between my bed and the door to my bathroom – there was no way I was going to get there under my own power before I started throwing up. Not when I had to drag my IV stand and everything else along with me at the same time. So instead of attempting the walk, I switched on my lamp and pressed my call button.

I was still sitting there when one of the night nurses came into my room. “Everything all right?” she asked me.

I shook my head. “I need to get to the bathroom,” I answered. “And I’m not sure I can get there by myself before I start throwing up. I don’t really want to do it on the floor.”

“Well, that’s what your call button is there for,” the nurse said. “We’re here to help you if you need anything. If there’s any reason that you need to get out of bed, then that’s as good a reason as any to give us a yell.” She gave me a smile. “Figuratively speaking, of course.” And with those words the nurse began disconnecting my central line from my chemotherapy so that I could actually get up and move.

Much to my irritation, I didn’t manage to make it to the bathroom. My knees gave out on me just a few paces from the bathroom, and I fell down to my hands and knees. Tears rolled down my face as I threw up right there on the floor, and I squeezed my eyes closed. I had never felt worse than I did right now – this was undoubtedly my lowest point.

“Sorry,” I mumbled when I was able to speak again.

“You have no reason to apologise, Isobel – you’re sick, and sick people throw up sometimes.”

“I’m still sorry.” I drew in a shaky breath. “I think I’m done.”

But I _wasn’t_ done. Not by a long shot. No sooner had I spoken that it came over me again, as if it were a wave crashing down upon my head with all of the force of a tsunami. It was so violent and unrelenting that for half a heartbeat I thought I was going to suffocate. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel my heart racing at what felt like a million miles a second. At long last, I finally couldn’t take it anymore and I blacked out, sinking into oblivion.

When I first drifted back into awareness, I didn’t know how long I’d been out. The sole indicator that any time had passed at all was that my room was no longer dark, something I could tell even through my closed eyes. A steady beeping filled my ears, there was something hooked over my ears and under my nose, and I could feel something clipped to my right index finger. None of those things had been present when I had passed out, I could remember that much.

The first person I saw when I opened my eyes was a very worried and exhausted-looking Taylor. He gave me a very shaky smile as I looked at him. “Hey,” I said softly.

“Hey yourself,” he said. His voice cracked a little as he spoke. I reached out and grasped hold of his nearest hand. “You scared the shit outta me, Issie…”

“I didn’t mean to,” I said, now feeling very small. _Turnabout’s fair play_ , my mental voice almost taunted, and I was suddenly reminded of my most recent birthday – of how I had felt when Taylor had collapsed. Knowing that Taylor now knew how I’d felt made me feel even worse than I already did. I actually felt guilty.

“I know you didn’t,” Taylor assured me. “I know. Just…try not to do it again? Or at least not too often.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He managed another smile and released my hand, standing up out of his seat. “I’ll be back in a second,” he said before walking across to the doorway and ducking out into the corridor. He returned quickly, leading into the room someone I hadn’t been expecting to see for another week at least. I waited until they had taken Taylor’s seat beside my bed before I spoke.

“Mum?” I whispered, hardly daring to believe what – or _who_ , for that matter – I was seeing.

“Good morning sweetheart,” she said softly.

That was all it took. I had spent the last couple of weeks trying desperately to come to terms with what was happening to me and what it was putting me through, and one of the only people I had wanted aside from Taylor had been my mum. And now that she was finally here, I hardly knew how to react at first. When her presence did finally get a reaction out of me, it was out of nothing more than pure instinct.

I burst into tears.

“Oh Bel,” Mum whispered. She helped me to sit up before taking me into her arms and holding me close, rubbing small circles on my back as I cried. “Isobel, shh, it’s okay…”

“N-no it’s n-not,” I sobbed. “It’s _not_ okay – I’m sick, and I can hardly stop throwing up, and I don’t even know if I even want to _do_ this anymore…”

“Of course you do,” Mum said as she released me. “It will get better, sweetheart – I promise. You had it caught early enough that you have a fighting chance at beating it. It’s worth the pain and the trouble.”

“Completely worth it,” Taylor agreed. He’d pulled up another chair next to my mother and had settled himself down in it. “You want to beat this, right?” he asked, and I nodded slowly. It was here that I noticed the bandaid on Taylor’s left arm just below the crook of his elbow, and I frowned.

“What did you do to yourself?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” he said evasively. “Jack should tell you himself.”

“Jack said you could tell her, Taylor,” Mum said, her tone firm but gentle. “She should hear this from you.”

Taylor nodded. “Okay.” He straightened up in his seat a little. “Jack isn’t a match,” he said, and I felt my heart sink just a little. “And I’d only agreed to be tested if he wasn’t, so…” He shrugged. “Dr. Chambers is running a bunch of tests at the moment. She promised I’d know as soon as she did.”

“All right.” I glanced at Mum. “Mum, can I talk to Taylor in private for a little while, please?”

“Of course you can, Isobel,” Mum agreed, and she stood up. “I’ll just head over to the cafeteria while you’re talking.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

Once Mum had taken her leave, I fixed Taylor with a hard look that I reserved for when I knew he was hiding something from me. Being as he kept very little from me, it was a look that didn’t get let out to play very often – which meant it always got an instant reaction.

“What did I do this time?” he asked.

“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” I asked pointedly.

“No?” he answered, and I intensified my glare. “Okay, okay, yes,” he finally admitted. “I haven’t meant to, it just hasn’t come up.”

“Until now,” I said, and he nodded quickly. “So spill, then. How bad do you feel?” We both knew that I didn’t mean ‘bad’ as in feeling guilty, so I didn’t bother to elaborate.

“I feel pretty horrible,” he admitted. “I just…I feel like I could sleep for a week at this point.”

“About the same as you did before Dr. Sommers increased the dosage of your meds?” I asked, and he nodded. “That isn’t good…”

“No kidding,” he mumbled. “This is bad, Issie – it shouldn’t be happening so soon. It’s only been a month since I had the dosage increased. I don’t like this one bit.”

“I don’t either. I think you need to see Dr. Sommers again.”

“I’ll make an appointment this afternoon,” he promised.

“Good,” I said. “And make sure you do whatever she tells you – if she says you need to be in hospital for a while, then that’s where you need to be.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I know, Tay,” I said sympathetically. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Are You Ready_ \- Creed  
> 
> 
>  **Lyric credit:**  
>  _Don't Hold Back Your Love_ \- Daryl Braithwaite


	5. 5: ...constantly changing from calm to ill

_Taylor_

Almost as soon as Marian and I arrived back home that afternoon, the first thing she did was fill the electric kettle from the tap in the kitchen and put it on its base to boil.

“Now then,” she said as she guided me to sit down at the kitchen table, “where do you and Isobel keep the teabags?”

“I don’t think we have any,” I answered, stifling a yawn as I finished speaking. “But have a look in the cupboard above the stove – I can’t remember buying any, but if they’re anywhere that’s where they’ll be.”

It seemed that we did in fact have some teabags hidden away behind all our coffee mugs, for it wasn’t long afterward that Marian set a steaming mug of tea down in front of me. It was followed in short order by a carton of milk and the sugar bowl. “I wasn’t sure how you took your tea,” Marian said as she seated herself with her own mug.

“I don’t normally,” I admitted as I poured milk into my tea. “Only when I’m not in the mood for coffee.” Once my tea had enough milk in it I started spooning sugar in, stirring it all together when it was the way I liked it. “And that’s not very often.”

Marian smiled slightly. “I didn’t think it was.”

There was quiet as we drank our tea, Marian breaking our comfortable silence before I’d managed to drain half my mug.

“Isobel is lucky to have found you.”

I paused mid-sip and looked at Marian over the rim of my mug. “Pardon?” I asked, not sure what she meant.

“I mean what I said. Before Isobel met you…it was almost as if she was lost. All she seemed to care about was college and then work – not even Schuyler could drag her away from it. I need to thank Schuyler one day for pushing Isobel to go to that concert with you.”

“So do I,” I agreed. “I never would have asked Isobel out on that date if Schuyler hadn’t suggested it.” There were a lot of other things I needed to thank Schuyler for someday – keeping me sane and grounded being one of them – but Marian didn’t really need to know that.

I didn’t realise how truly exhausted I was until I had finished my tea. My hands were shaking as I set the empty mug down on the table, and I found it difficult to bite back a yawn. “I think you need to go to bed,” Marian said as I eased myself to my feet, bracing my hands against the table until I was steady. “You look absolutely exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” I said. It wasn’t exactly the best time to decide I was going to be stubborn and argumentative, but I had never been known for rational thought when I was tired.

Marian’s immediate response was to take me by the shoulders and steer me out of the kitchen. “You need to take care of yourself, Taylor,” she said, sounding eerily like my mother. “I don’t know much about your particular illness, but I do recognise exhaustion when I see it. If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up in hospital. And I’m quite sure you don’t want that to happen.”

“I don’t,” I agreed. “I’ve already been in hospital once this year. I’d really rather not get myself landed there again anytime soon.”

It wasn’t very long at all before I was upstairs in my bedroom with the door closed and the blinds drawn to block out the sun. At least this way I would be able to get some sleep, even if it was only for a few hours. The semi-dark would also help with the headache that was beginning to build across my forehead. Before I could even hope to lie down and rest, though, I had a phone call to make.

“Wollongong Medical Centre, this is Elizabeth speaking – how may I help you?” the receptionist on the other end of the line said when my call was answered.

“I’d like to make an appointment to see Dr. Sommers,” I said. “Would she be available tomorrow?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Elizabeth said. “Let’s see now…” Here I heard the sound of fingers tapping away at a computer keyboard. “Here we go. Dr. Sommers has an opening tomorrow afternoon at half past four. Would that work for you?”

“That sounds good.”

“All right then. Could I get your name please?”

“Taylor Hanson.”

More keyboard tapping sounded in my ear. “Okay Taylor, you’re booked in to see Dr. Lowell at four-thirty tomorrow afternoon.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound _too_ grateful.

As soon as I was done on the phone, I found my schedule book and wrote my appointment down on the page for the thirtieth of June so that I didn’t forget it. That done, I toed off my sneakers and got into bed. I was so exhausted that I was asleep almost as soon as I had closed my eyes.

The next afternoon, I drove myself into Wollongong for my appointment with Dr. Sommers. I hadn’t ended up waking up that morning until about eleven – I felt somewhat better after sleeping for more than eighteen hours, but not completely. I at least didn’t feel as if I was going to fall asleep behind the wheel of my car if I closed my eyes for longer than a few seconds.

“What brings you here this afternoon?” Dr. Sommers asked once her office door was closed and we had taken our respective seats. “I got the impression from your phone call yesterday that this is a fairly urgent matter. Is everything all right?”

“I…” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to say. “I think the CFS is getting worse,” I said at last. “Basically I feel the way I did six weeks ago. It’s been a long time since it’s been this bad. I’m under an incredible amount of stress which isn’t helping matters, but I’m fairly sure it shouldn’t be making me feel so awful.” I took my glasses off and rubbed my eyes a little, flicking my gaze briefly to a painting of a vase of sunflowers that Dr. Sommers had on the wall of her office as I slid my glasses back on. “I slept for about nineteen hours – four o’clock yesterday afternoon until eleven o’clock this morning. And I still don’t feel completely awake, to be honest.”

“That does sound fairly worrying. I can understand why you would be feeling that way.” She leaned forward in her seat a little bit. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“If you believe you’re up to it, I’d like to increase the dosage of your medication again. It is a little early to be doing so, but I think it’s necessary in your case. I’d want you to start taking seventy-five milligrams of Endep a day in divided doses – twenty-five milligrams at around lunchtime, and the remaining fifty milligrams before bed as usual. I think we can leave the Lexapro as is for the time being. If you don’t feel that the higher dosage is working by…let’s say the end of August, then we can look at trying something else. How does that sound?”

I nodded. “I’m willing to give it a shot. Hell, I’ll try anything at this point.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She gave me a smile and started typing away at the keyboard of her computer. “To that end, I’m going to write you two new prescriptions – one for the twenty-five milligram dose, and the other for the fifty milligrams. I’d like you to start taking the extra dose tomorrow.”

“Yeah, all right.” I took the prescriptions from Dr. Sommers once she had printed them off and slipped them into my messenger bag. “Have you heard anything back about my test results?” I asked.

“I have, actually. Your wife’s oncologist faxed them to me this morning.” Dr. Sommers took a sheet of paper out of the folder that held my medical records. “It turns out that you are a match for her.”

“I’m _what?_ ” I asked, barely daring to believe what Dr. Sommers was saying. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

Dr. Sommers nodded. “I am indeed. It’s as close a match as is possible without the two of you being related by blood. You have the best chance of anyone, other than Isobel herself, of potentially saving her life.”

I sat there silently for a minute, feeling completely stunned. Not in a million years had I ever expected this. I’d hoped for it, sure, but that was all it had been.

“You need to understand that there are absolutely no guarantees here, though,” Dr. Sommers said, snapping me back to reality. “It’s quite possible that the transplant will not work. Even if the donor is related there is still a possibility of failure, but because the two of you aren’t related the chance it will fail is much greater.” She leaned forward a little bit so that we were eye to eye. “I am not telling you this to discourage you, Taylor,” she said, her tone gentle. “I’m telling you this so that you can be realistic about it. You’re doing a wonderful thing here, regardless of what happens.”

I nodded a little. “What if it doesn’t take?” I asked.

“It’ll be up to Isobel, but her oncologist will likely recommend that she undergo an autologous stem cell transplant. But that is something you’ll need to talk to Isobel and her doctor about.”

I left the medical centre around ten minutes later, feeling a lot more positive than I had when I had walked in its front door. As much as I wanted to get in my car and drive up to Sydney to celebrate this with Isobel, I dismissed the thought out of hand. With how late it already was, it was entirely possible that by the time I finally got to Sydney I would have to turn around again. Instead, I fished my phone out of my pocket and unlocked it. Just as I went to dial Isobel’s number my phone started ringing in my hand, blasting _Chasing Cars_ by Snow Patrol – the ringtone I had set as Isobel’s in my phone’s directory.

“Hey Issie,” I said to answer my phone.

“Hey Tay,” Isobel said – she sounded a lot more cheerful than she normally did lately, and I had a fairly good idea why. “I got some good news today.”

“Oh really? Well so did I, so how about you tell me yours first?”

I could almost see the grin on Isobel’s face with the next words she spoke. “The induction chemo worked. Dr. Chambers couldn’t find any abnormal cells in my last blood test.”

“Holy shit Issie, that’s awesome,” I said, fighting back the very strong temptation to cheer. That would only serve to make me look like an idiot. “So you’ll be able to come home soon, then.”

“With any luck, yep. Providing of course that the transplant goes ahead and it works.” I could hear quiet squeaking, and I figured that Isobel was shifting around in bed. “So what’s your good news?”

“I’m surprised that Dr. Chambers didn’t tell you this herself, but…”

“But what? Come on, tell me!”

I was hard-pressed to bite back the grin that was threatening to break out onto my face. “I’m a match, Issie – Dr. Sommers told me about ten minutes ago.”

There was nothing but silence on Isobel’s end of the line for almost a minute. “Issie?” I asked tentatively. “You okay?”

“You had better not be making this up, Jordan Taylor,” Isobel said. Her voice was shaking. “I swear to God, if you are…”

“I’m not,” I assured her. “I promise you, I’m not making this up. I really am a match. I’ll come up tomorrow for a visit, and while I’m there I’m going to talk things over with your doctor so I know exactly what I need to do to be ready for this.”

By this time it was clear that Isobel had started crying. It was more than evident in her voice when she spoke next.

“I love you so much,” she said softly. “I just…” I heard her breath hitch a little. “Thank you, Taylor. _Thank you_.”

“I love you too, Isobel. And you’re very welcome.”

* * *

I looked through the small square window set into the door of Isobel’s hospital room while I waited for her doctor to meet up with me. She was fast asleep in bed, curled up under her blankets. It had been around a week since we had found out I was a match for her – one of the longest and most hectic weeks of my life. After Isobel and I had celebrated her making it through induction, I had spent a couple of hours with Dr. Chambers going over what I would need to do as part of the transplant process. The first part of it had been fairly simple – every morning for the last five days, before I’d headed off to work and after I’d taken my usual medication, I’d injected myself with a drug that was meant to make my body produce enough stem cells for Isobel’s transplant – or rather, the first couple of mornings Marian had done it for me, being as I hadn’t been entirely certain I could do it myself to begin with.

Today everything was shifting into high gear. Isobel had been moved into a new room a few days earlier – an isolation room, she had called it in one of her recent text messages – and had started on the second stage of her treatment the same day. This was the stage that we had both been dreading. She was on immunosuppressants now to destroy her immune system, and even something as minor as a cold could kill her. It was a terrifying thought to say the very least.

Dr. Chambers came hurrying up the corridor just as I looked away from the window. She wore what looked like a long hospital gown over her clothes and gloves on her hands, and carried a bundle of clothing under one arm. I had the sneaking suspicion I would have to wear what she did just to be allowed in Isobel’s room. But if it meant that Isobel was protected from the world outside, at least until her immune system rebuilt itself, I didn’t mind.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said once she had drawn level with me. “Ready to go in?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m a bit nervous, though.”

Dr. Chambers gave me a sympathetic smile. “That’s completely understandable. I know it’s a little intimidating.” She took the bundle from under her arm and handed it to me. “Once you’re all covered up, we’ll go in.”

I didn’t say a word in response to this, choosing to focus on covering myself up. I put the long gown on over my jeans and long-sleeved shirt, tying it at the back of my neck so it stayed on, following it with a pair of gloves and finally a surgical mask. It almost felt like I was going into battle.

Isobel didn’t wake up until I was sitting at her bedside and had carefully tucked her hair behind her left ear. It was shorter than it had been a few days ago – where before it had been just past her shoulders, now it was up around her ears. Her eyes opened, and she managed a very weak smile. “Hey,” she whispered.

“Hey beautiful. How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” she replied. “I didn’t even feel this bad during the chemo.” She was still whispering, and I figured she couldn’t raise her voice any lounger. I wasn’t surprised – I knew it had to be taking a lot out of her. “I keep telling myself it’ll get better but it doesn’t feel that way right now.”

“Not much longer to go,” I reminded her gently. Here I changed the subject to her new hairstyle. “So what’s with the hair?”

“Asked one of the nurses if someone could cut it short for me,” she replied. Her voice was a little stronger now, but still quiet. “My hair hasn’t been falling out but it still might. At least if it does start falling out it won’t be much of a shock.”

“It looks good,” I told her, and she smiled again. I looked up at Dr. Chambers briefly. “I think Dr. Chambers wants to have a chat – do you feel up to sitting up?”

She seemed to think this over for a little while. “Yeah, I think so,” she replied at last, and I helped her shift onto her back. Her hand found the remote that would raise up the head of her bed, and it wasn’t too long before she was sitting halfway up in bed. “Hey Dr. Chambers.”

“Good morning Isobel.” Dr. Chambers gave Isobel a smile as she seated herself, one that reached all the way to her eyes. “I know you probably want to go back to sleep so I won’t keep you up too long, but I’d like to talk to you about what’s going to happen next.”

“Okay,” Isobel said, sounding a little unsure. She reached out to me and I took hold of her hand, entwining our fingers.

“I’m going to keep you on the immunosuppressants for at least the next couple of weeks,” Dr. Chambers said to start with. “There’s a chance that your immune system could recognise your husband’s stem cells as foreign and destroy them, and I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Isobel didn’t say anything, just nodded a little. “In an hour or so I’ll be taking Taylor over to the outpatient clinic so apheresis can begin – I’ll be removing the stem cells from his bloodstream so they can be transfused later on,” she added as an explanation of the unfamiliar word.

“How much later?” I asked – I wanted to be present when the transplant started, and if it was going to be on a weekday then I needed to arrange to get time off work.

“Let’s say…this coming Sunday? It may take a couple of sessions to complete the aphaeresis, but by that point I should have enough stem cells to get everything started.”

“Sunday sounds good,” Isobel said.

“Excellent.” Dr. Chambers rose from her seat. “I’ll let you two have a bit of time alone. Taylor, I’ll be expecting you in the outpatient clinic in one hour. One of the nurses will be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Okay,” I said, and Dr. Chambers left Isobel’s room, shutting the door tightly behind her. Isobel in her turn immediately lowered the head of her bed so that she was flat on her back once more.

“Can you take that off, please?” she asked, referring to my mask, but I shook my head. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want to make you sicker than you are already,” I replied. Isobel snorted quietly. “Issie, I’m serious. Besides, if Dr. Chambers found out I took it off she’d probably ban me from visiting you until you were off your medication.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Isobel said with a quiet sigh. “How have you been feeling?”

“I’ve been better, to be honest.”

Isobel narrowed her eyes at me. “You _did_ go and see Dr. Sommers like we discussed?” she asked, her tone dangerous.

I nodded. “I did, and she upped the dosage of my medication. But that’s not why I’ve been feeling lousy – it’s that other shit I’ve been taking for the last few days. I’m constantly exhausted and I always feel like I’m going to throw up. It’s not much fun.” I ran my thumb across the back of Isobel’s hand. “But if it’s going to help you, I can deal with it. And I don’t have to take it anymore anyway.”

“I’m going to be so glad when all of this is over with,” Isobel said. “It’s only been a couple of weeks but it feels like it’s been months already.” As she spoke I could tell she was getting tired again, and I figured it was better if I let her rest.

“I’m going to head out,” I said, and I stood up. “You need to get some sleep.” When she opened her mouth to presumably protest, I shook my head. “Issie, you’re exhausted. I don’t want to keep you up. If you’re still awake when I get done in the clinic I’ll come back, but if you aren’t I’ll probably see you in a couple of days.”

Isobel scowled at me briefly, even though she knew I was right. “Yeah, okay,” she said, sounding reluctant.

Even though I knew it was very much against the rules, I hooked a finger over the top of my mask and pulled it down, and I bent down to plant a quick kiss on Isobel’s forehead. “I love you,” I said as I allowed the mask to snap back into place.

“I love you too,” Isobel whispered. Within seconds she was asleep. I stayed standing there by her bed for a few more moments, watching her sleep, before following Dr. Chambers’ lead and leaving the room.

Around an hour later, after I’d gone to the hospital’s cafeteria for lunch, I met Dr. Chambers at the outpatient clinic. I already felt nervous – I didn’t have a phobia of needles, but by the same token I didn’t like them much.

“How long is this going to take?” I asked as I followed Dr. Chambers into the clinic, taking the strap of my messenger bag off my left shoulder as I walked.

“Generally it takes up to four hours,” she replied. “It’ll depend entirely on how much of your stem calls I’m able to collect today. You may need to come back here a couple more times, but we’ll see how things go during this session. All right?”

I nodded mutely, allowing Dr. Chambers to lead me over to a recliner that had been placed near a window. The window looked out on the grounds of the hospital. I set my bag down next to it so that I could keep it in my sight. “Can you roll your sleeves up for me?” Dr. Chambers asked as I sat down. “I need to place a couple of lines before I can start collecting your stem cells.”

It didn’t take me long to shove the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows. Almost as soon as I’d done that a nurse came over to us, wheeling a tray along in front of her. I swallowed hard when I saw what was on that tray – two long, thin tubes that each had a wickedly sharp needle attached to one end, a couple of foil packages, and a roll of white tape. It didn’t take me long to realise those two tubes would be going into me.

“All ready to go?” the nurse asked.

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

She gave me a smile. “It’s okay to be nervous. I’ll be as quick as I can, okay?”

I kept my eyes closed as the nurse wiped something cold onto my arms, just below the crook of each elbow. It didn’t take me long to work out why, because when I opened my eyes again both of the lines were in place and taped down. I hadn’t even felt either of the needles piercing my skin. Bright red blood – my blood – flowed out of the line taped down on my left arm, and I followed it with my eyes up to an unfamiliar machine near my head. It was making a quiet sort of whirring noise, and I looked up at Dr. Chambers. “What exactly is that doing?” I asked.

“It’s collecting the stem cells from your blood,” Dr. Chambers explained.

“Oh, okay.” Just as I’d finished speaking, a chill settled over me. “Whoa, what the hell?”

Isobel’s doctor gave me a small smile. “That’s from the anticoagulant drug in the machine – it stops your blood clotting.” She quickly checked her watch. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to see how things are going – if you need anything in the meantime, one of the nurses will be happy to help you.”

“Okay. Thanks Dr. Chambers.”

She gave me another smile. “Anytime, Taylor.”

Almost as soon as Dr. Chambers had taken her leave, I pulled my iPod out of the left front pocket of my jeans and unwound my earphones from around it. If I was going to be sitting here hooked up to that machine for the next few hours, I needed to keep myself occupied somehow. I stuck my earphones into my ears, unlocked my iPod and clicked through to a random playlist, hitting play. I didn’t care much what was on it, I just wanted a distraction. The familiar guitar intro of the first track from Daughtry’s _Leave This Town_ album started playing and I tipped my head back, settling my iPod in my lap.

I hated this already. It was bringing back some very vivid and entirely unwelcome memories of the summer after my third year of college, in particular the two weeks I had spent in hospital being poked and prodded by doctors whose names I no longer remembered. But as much of a nuisance it was, it was hopefully going to help Isobel in the long run – and that alone made it all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Sleeping Sickness_ \- City And Colour
> 
> \+ This was another difficult chapter to write, taking me more than a year to completely finish. The long break from writing was completely unintentional on my part.


	6. 6: ...all come tumbling down

_Isobel_

I curled up on my side in bed, being careful not to jostle my central line, and squeezed my eyes closed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so awful – I hadn’t felt so bad while I’d been out on tour, during chemotherapy, or even right before the transplant. Compared to this, all of that had been nothing more than a mild nuisance.

A hand brushed across my forehead, tucking my hair behind my right ear, and I opened my eyes to see Mum sitting by my bedside. “Hello sweetheart,” she said softly. I couldn’t see it through her mask, but I could tell she was smiling.

“Hi Mum,” I whispered, almost immediately clenching my eyes shut as yet another cramp ripped through me. “Ow,” I added, and immediately spotted the concern in my mother’s eyes when I looked up at her again.

“How long has that been happening?” Mum asked.

“About a week. Only got this bad last night though. Dr. Chambers-” I broke off again, the renewed pain almost taking my breath away. “I think Dr. Chambers is going to come around and see me this morning, one of the nurses said they’d tell her that I was feeling worse than I have been.”

“Okay, good. Does Taylor know yet?”

I shook my head. “Didn’t want to worry him.”

“Isobel,” Mum said, her tone faintly chiding. “He’s going to worry no matter what. You should know this by now.”

“And every time he worries it stresses him out, and that makes his chronic fatigue worse. I don’t want him to know until I have some idea of what’s happening to me.”

“If you’re sure,” Mum said, sounding dubious, and I nodded. “I just hope you find out soon.”

“You and me both, Mum.”

The door to my room opened then, and Mum helped me shift onto my back just in time for Dr. Chambers to make her entrance. “Good morning Isobel,” she said cheerfully.

“G’morning Dr. Chambers,” I said, my tone decidedly not cheerful. “Is it okay if my mum stays in here?”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Chambers assured me. “That’s perfectly all right.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mum stand up so she could shake my doctor’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Please call me Marian,” Mum said, and she sat back down next to me.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, deciding it was best to get down to business.

Dr. Chambers pulled up another chair to my bedside, next to Mum. “Unfortunately, we’ve run into a small complication since your husband’s stem cells were transplanted.”

“What sort of complication?” Mum asked.

Rather than answer right away, Dr. Chambers instead paged through a folder she held in her lap – my medical records, I realised. “Basically, Taylor’s stem cells are attacking what remains of Isobel’s immune system. It’s called graft-versus-host disease.”

“That isn’t good, I take it?”

“It really depends on its severity,” Dr. Chambers said. “But based on the results of Isobel’s most recent blood test, and what one of the overnight nurses reported to me this morning – namely about the stomach cramps, the nausea, and the rashes on her hands, arms, feet and legs – it’s currently in stage two. So while Isobel is undoubtedly very uncomfortable right now” she gave me a very sympathetic look “unless it progresses to stage four, with treatment she should recover.”

“There’s something else,” I guessed, and Dr. Chambers nodded.

“There is, yes.” Dr. Chambers’ tone turned a little more serious now. “The new cells haven’t engrafted yet, and that concerns me somewhat.”

“Should they have by now?” Mum asked.

“It can take anywhere between two and six weeks,” Dr. Chambers replied. “We’re in the third week now, so there’s still a little bit of time before we need to begin truly worrying. But I want you to be prepared, Isobel – there is a decent chance this could fail.”

“What if it does?” Mum asked. I was grateful that she was asking the questions, rather than me – I wasn’t sure I could find the words.

“There’s a couple of options, really. I can try to find another unrelated donor, Isobel could have an autologous transplant done, or we can try a few more rounds of chemotherapy. But let’s not cross that bridge just yet. We can worry about all of that if the transplant fails. Not when, if. All right?”

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Good. In the meantime, I’m going to start you on two additional medications to treat the GVHD – they’re called cyclosporine and methotrexate. The cyclosporine in particular can have some nasty side effects, seizures for instance, but the more serious side effects are rare. All the same, I’m going to monitor your condition closely during the time that you’re taking the new medications. That way if you do experience the rarer side effects, we can nip them in the bud early. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” I replied softly.

Dr. Chambers lowered her mask just long enough to give me an encouraging smile. “You’re doing very well so far, Isobel,” she said. “Just try to stay positive, and get some rest. I’ll be in again to see you later on today.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chambers,” Mum said.

Almost as soon as Dr. Chambers had left my room, I shifted back onto my side again and curled up. “Is it okay if I have a nap?” I asked. “All of this is really taking it out of me.”

“Of course it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mum said. She lifted a hand to my face and stroked my cheek with her thumb. “I should get going anyway – I promised I would call your father to let you know how you were doing, and I’m sure Taylor wants to know as well. He had to work today – I practically had to force him to go into the studio. He was set on coming up here to visit you.”

“I’m glad you made him go to work,” I said, and bit back a yawn. “He needs to keep busy – stops him worrying about me all the time.”

“He’ll likely be here tomorrow, just be warned.” I felt gloved fingers brush over my hair. “Get some sleep.”

“Love you, Mum,” I murmured as I closed my eyes.

“I love you too, Isobel.”

True to Mum’s word, Taylor did visit the next day. I was napping when he arrived, and so when I opened my eyes to see him sitting at my bedside I smiled. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey yourself.” I didn’t miss the way his gaze snapped to my hands, both of which had been bandaged to stop me scratching my arms and legs. The rash that covered the backs of my hands and my arms all the way up to my elbows had started itching the previous afternoon, and it was absolutely maddening. The rash on my feet and legs was itching as well, but not as badly as the rash on my hands and arms. “What happened?”

“I’ve got something called graft-versus-host disease,” I replied, resisting the very strong temptation to rub my right arm along the corner of my bedside table to relieve the itch. “A rash is one of the symptoms and it’s pissing me off.”

“I bet,” Taylor said sympathetically. “How’d you get it?”

“It’s just something that happens sometimes after stem cell or bone marrow transplants,” I replied. “I just happened to get unlucky. Dr. Chambers put me on two more meds so I can get better.”

“But everything’s good aside from that?”

I shrugged. “Aside from the fact that the transplant hasn’t taken yet, I’m fine. I’m sleeping a hell of a lot and I’m throwing up every eight hours or so, but I’m dealing.”

“Well, that’s good then.” He frowned a little. “It hasn’t taken yet?” he asked, and I couldn’t help but note he sounded more than a little worried.

“Not yet. Dr. Chambers said it can take up to six weeks, so we don’t really need to worry yet. She is a little concerned though, seeing as it’s been three weeks already.”

“Are you worried?”

“I don’t know, to be honest,” I admitted. “On one hand I am, because if this doesn’t work it potentially means going through all the chemo and that shit all over again. On the other hand though, my mindset’s like, what happens happens and I’ll deal with it as it comes.”

Taylor reached over a little and started playing with my hair, twirling each of my curls around his fingers. “Have you decided yet?”

“Decided what?”

“What you’re going to do if it doesn’t work.”

“Not yet. I think it’s a little too early yet.” I didn’t even dare mention something I was thinking over, that of not having any further treatment done, but that in itself was only a very distant possibility. I wasn’t even going to seriously contemplate it unless there was no real option left. “But if I had to choose one option right now, I’d go with an autologous transplant – at least that way I know there’s no risk of rejection.”

“Well, whatever you decide, I’ll be behind you one hundred percent,” Taylor assured me. “And if I’m not, you have permission to smack me.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I told him. “I hope you realise that.”

Taylor laughed softly. “Oh I definitely do. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

I studied Taylor for a little while, taking in every part of him as if I were trying to memorise what he looked like. Eyes almost the same colour as the sky on a sunny day, peering out at me from behind half-rim glasses. He had fine wrinkles radiating out from the outer corners of his eyes now – they hadn’t been there when we had first met, and it was a little sobering to realise that the last two-and-a-half years had truly aged him. Hair that was somewhere between dark blonde and dark brown, a shade that looked quite a lot like the jersey caramels that I had managed to get myself addicted to since the move Down Under, but with streaks of lighter blonde running through it. He tended to keep it short nowadays, just above his collar. Ears that stuck out just a little bit. My gaze drifted down to his hands – he wore two rings, one of them his wedding band and the other a silver circlet that looked almost like a braid. Around his wrists were more than a few bracelets and wristbands, one of which was a braided leather bracelet that I could see peeking out from beneath the right sleeve of his long-sleeved shirt.

I must have dozed off for a little while, because when I drifted back into awareness Taylor was gone. In his place, on my bedside table within reach, was a small wrapped parcel that had a folded-over piece of notebook paper taped to it. My name was written on the paper in Taylor’s neat print.

I sat myself up, using my hands for leverage against the mattress of my bed, and shifted the parcel from my bedside table to my lap. Being as the piece of paper was on top, I chose to look at it first. When it was unfolded I saw just four words written on the paper – _Isobel Lynn Reynolds Hanson_. My full name, including my maiden name. It was just a little puzzling, and I set the note aside before unwrapping the parcel. Inside it was my iPod, back in its original box. How Taylor could have gotten his hands on my iPod, I had no idea, especially as I kept it with me almost at all times, but then I remembered – I hadn’t been able to find it the previous evening. I had the sneaking suspicion that Mum had swiped it before she had left the afternoon before, after I’d fallen asleep.

I upended the open box over my lap, and my iPod, earphones and another folded-up piece of notepaper fell out. The notepaper I left until I had hooked my earphones up to my iPod. It turned out to be another note, again in Taylor’s handwriting, with what looked a lot like a track listing beneath it and today’s date at the top of the page.

> _Hey Issie,_
> 
> _I got the girls to help me out with this one. I think they were more relieved than anything else to be working on something that had nothing to do with the band, even more so when I told them who it was for. This has been a few weeks in the planning – I figured that with you stuck in the hospital and all, you might like something to cheer you up. Your mom had a hand in it as well – I got her to swipe your iPod when she left yesterday so I could finish this._
> 
> _I love you so much, and I always will. And I have every faith that you will be able to beat this. I believe in you completely. You know how to get hold of me if you ever need to talk to me._
> 
> _Love Taylor_

As I scanned the track listing beneath Taylor’s name, I couldn’t help smiling. They were all of my favourite songs. At the top, though, was a song title I didn’t recognise at first. That is, until I put my earphones into my ears, scrolled through my iPod to the one playlist I knew for a fact hadn’t been there before (it had been marked with my initials), and pressed play. The first song was the one that Taylor had written and subsequently played to me over the phone, and that I had heard for the first time in my voicemail. Those two voicemail messages had been deleted, and so I was pleased I now had a more permanent copy of the song. His voice flowed into my ears through my earphones, and I smiled. In my lowest moments, hearing him sing or even just speak was one of the very few things that could cheer me up. Even if it was just for a little while.

As soon as the song had finished I skipped back to the beginning and set the playlist to repeat, before lying back down again and closing my eyes. In almost no time at all I had fallen back to sleep, Taylor’s voice and acoustic guitar the last two sounds I heard as I drifted into my nap.

Things quickly went from bad to worse after that. It started out feeling like I was coming down with a bad cold or even the flu. I couldn’t stop coughing, my chest ached (and the pain got worse every time I coughed or breathed in), I was throwing up more than usual, and I constantly felt as if I couldn’t get enough air. I was spending most of my days curled up in a ball under my blankets, trying to keep warm.

“You look like shit,” Melayna said bluntly when she and my bandmates came for a visit. The four of them crowded around my bed, all of them wearing the same protective gear that all my visitors had to wear.

“Thank you so much for that observation,” I retorted.

“I thought you just had leukaemia,” Emmanuelle said, but not before giving Melayna a smack to the back of her head. “What’s going on?”

“I do have leukaemia. I’ve just got a crapload of other shit going on with me as well. It sucks.” I coughed, wincing as a spike of pain lanced through me.

“You’ve got the flu by the sounds of it,” Ayesha commented. “And a nasty case of it at that. Isn’t that a bad thing when you’re this sick?”

“It’s supposed to be. But I haven’t died yet so I guess it can’t be too bad.” I broke into another coughing fit, trying desperately to breathe once I was done.

“I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Emmanuelle said, sounding worried. “You really don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, Ems,” I said once I could breathe and speak again. “Thanks for the music, by the way. Taylor told me you guys did that for me.”

“Yeah, we figured you could do with something to keep your mind off the chemo,” Pania said. “It was Taylor’s idea. He really loves you, Bel – I can’t imagine my boyfriend doing something like that if I was sick.”

“Of course he loves me, Nia,” I said. “He wouldn’t have proposed to me or married me if he didn’t. And I love him too.” I twisted my blankets around in my fingers. “I’m lucky to have him, really. He’s come close to dying too many times for my liking. And if I ever lost him…” I shook my head. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

None of the girls responded verbally. Instead, Emmanuelle got up from her seat and perched on the edge of my bed, and pulled me into a close embrace. “You’ll be okay Bel,” she said in a whisper. “Everything’s going to turn out okay.”

“We should let Isobel get some rest,” Pania said once Emmanuelle had released me. “She’s not going to get over the flu or whatever it is otherwise.”

“Yeah, I need to get some sleep anyway,” I agreed reluctantly. “I’m pretty wiped.”

Once the girls left, calling out farewells as they went, I burrowed back beneath my blankets and closed my eyes. It was the last thing I was aware of for quite a while.

The first thing I heard when I woke up was the unmistakable, high-pitched beeping of a heart monitor. _Oh great, I passed out again_ , I grumbled mentally, not willing to open my eyes yet. It took nothing more than a kiss on my forehead to make me open them. Taylor was at my bedside again, I saw once I was able to focus, and he looked about as worried as he had the last time I had passed out. There was one difference this time, though – it might have just been a trick of the light, but he looked as if he’d been crying.

“Oh thank God,” he whispered once he saw I was awake. He swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, and I knew it hadn’t been a trick of the light – he really had been crying. That in itself told me quite a bit – it was obvious now that something serious had happened to me, and I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to like it.

“What happened?” I whispered, my throat far too sore for me to be able to talk normally. “And where the hell am I?”

“You…” He took a shaky breath, and for a moment I was sure he was going to start crying again. “You’re in ICU, Issie. Dr. Chambers is pretty sure you came down with pneumonia.”

“Lovely,” I groused. “No wonder I’ve been feeling like shit.”

“Yeah,” Taylor said quietly. “But Dr. Chambers put you on antibiotics straight away – she reckons you’ll be better in a couple of days.”

“How long have I been in here?” I asked, deciding I had better find out just how long I’d been unconscious this time. When Taylor didn’t answer me straight away, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Jordan Taylor Hanson, answer me. How long have I been in here?”

“A week and a half,” he replied finally. “You were on a ventilator up until a couple of days ago – you weren’t able to breathe on your own. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

He gave me a shaky smile. “Wasn’t your fault.” He raked his hands back through his hair. “I’d better go find a nurse and let them know you’re awake. Be back in a little bit.”

While Taylor was off searching for a nurse, I shifted my gaze to the ceiling above my bed and stared at it.

A week and a half. I had been unconscious for a week and a half. The last time this sort of thing had happened I’d only been out of it for a day or so, and I could still remember how worried Taylor had looked when I’d woken up. For me to be unconscious for ten days – and in ICU at that – I knew he had to have been utterly terrified, and I could hardly blame him. Were our positions switched, I knew I would have felt exactly the same.

It did set me to thinking, though – when I had come down with pneumonia, it had been roughly four weeks since the transplant. Unless I missed my guess, I was now in my sixth week post-transplant. I had no idea if it had worked or if it had failed. I wasn’t in isolation any longer, so there were two possibilities – either it had worked and I didn’t need to be protected from the world, or it had failed and it didn’t matter that I wasn’t.

It was another few days before I found out for sure.

Dr. Chambers came to see me a couple of days after I had been released from the ICU. I still felt unwell, but it was more the side effects of my medication than anything else. Somewhat to my dismay she looked solemn. That alone told me more than I wanted to know – she had bad news for me.

“I take it you don’t have good news for me,” I said quietly, deciding it was best to get things over with as soon as possible.

“I wish I did,” Dr. Chambers replied. “Unfortunately even with the immunosuppressants you’ve been taking, the transplant hasn’t been successful. I’m sorry, Isobel.”

I nodded silently, knowing that if I opened my mouth I’d start crying. I’d known from the start that this was a possibility, but being faced with it was an entirely different story. Not having Taylor here with me made it a whole lot worse. How was I going to tell him? How was I going to tell the rest of my family?

“You have a few options now,” Dr. Chambers said, and I did my best to pay attention. “We can attempt to find another unrelated donor, or you can undergo an autologous transplant. Alternatively I can start you on a few courses of high-dose chemotherapy. It’s up to you.”

“I’m not sure I want to have another transplant done,” I said finally. “I mean…the GVHD was utter hell, and the pneumonia was no picnic either. Plus I don’t think I can take much more chemo. It was bad enough when I was a kid. I almost feel like this time it was worse.”

Dr. Chambers seemed to be considering my answer for a little while. “There is a fourth option,” she said at last. “I don’t often mention it, but in your case I believe it may be worth considering.”

“What’s that?”

“I can start you on a lower intensity of chemotherapy that will keep the leukaemia under control. If you decide to try for another transplant at a later point, then I can increase the intensity of your treatment.”

“How long would I be on it?” I asked.

“That would be entirely your decision. Theoretically you would be able to remain on the lower intensity chemotherapy for as long as you needed it.”

“But it would stop working eventually.” It wasn’t a question.

“It would, yes. But how long it would be until it did stop working, I couldn’t say for certain. It could be a few months, or it could be a couple of years.”

She rose from her seat. “Take a few days to think it over. Once you’ve decided what you want to do, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks Dr. Chambers.”

Almost as soon as Dr. Chambers had left my room, I felt the first tears slide down my face. I had known from the beginning that things might not work out the way I hoped they would, but it didn’t make the truth of it all hurt any less. Knowing that I needed to tell Taylor as soon as possible just made it even more painful. But he needed to know, and he needed to know soon.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and went to dig around in the top drawer of my bedside table for my phone. If I didn’t call him now I was going to lose my nerve entirely.

Somewhat to my dismay, he didn’t answer his phone this time – rather, his voicemail did. I resisted the temptation to hurl my phone at the wall, and instead left a message.

“Hi Tay, it’s Issie – can you call me as soon as you get this?” I paused momentarily and drew in a shaky breath. “I just…I really need to talk to you.” I hung up without saying goodbye and folded my phone closed, sliding it under my pillow so that I would be able to hear it if it rang. With that phone call out of the way, I drew my covers up over myself and attempted to get some sleep.

The next thing I knew, a muffled version of my phone’s ringtone was blasting into my ear from beneath my pillow – to be specific, it was the ringtone I used to let me know Taylor was calling me. Even though I was very much half asleep, I reached under my pillow and drew my phone out into the open.

“H’lo?” I said to answer my phone.

“Hey Issie,” Taylor said. “Everything okay? I just got your message and you sounded a little panicked.”

For a split second I was tempted to lie to him, but I knew how much he hated being lied to. “Everything is as far from okay as it’s possible to be right now,” I replied, my voice trembling just a little from the effort of holding back my tears.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Let me finish things up here, okay? I’ll be on my way up there in around half an hour.”

I knew better than to argue with him. “Okay,” I said softly. “Be careful.”

“I will be.”

I figured I had to have dozed off again after Taylor’s phone call, for the next thing I knew a very familiar hand was tucking my hair behind my right ear. I opened my eyes to see him sitting at my bedside, and I smiled a little. “Hey you,” I whispered.

He smiled at this, but I could tell it was forced. “So what exactly did Dr. Chambers say?” he asked.

“Nothing like not beating around the bush,” I muttered. “It failed,” I said in a normal tone of voice. “Didn’t matter that I’ve been taking four different medications to stop that happening, it still fucking _failed_.”

“Oh Issie,” Taylor said softly. “What happens now?”

“She…” I swallowed hard against a sob that was threatening to break free. “She gave me a few options. A second transplant, either from another unrelated donor or using my own stem cells, or a few rounds of high-dose chemo. Gave me a few days to think about it.” I let out a hiccup. “I don’t know what to do, Tay. I honestly don’t. This is just…” I trailed off, and just like that I started crying all over again.

Taylor didn’t say anything at first. Instead he stood up from his chair and hopped up onto the bed beside me. I sat up so that he could sit down without balancing on the edge of the mattress.

“We will get through this, okay?” he said. “You and me together. We’ll figure something out.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead before pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me. “It’ll be okay, Issie. I promise you, everything’s going to be okay.”

I knew I had to believe him. But right then, I wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure – me, or himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Dying To Be Alive_ \- Hanson


	7. 7. Lights will guide you home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly, honestly sorry for how long this chapter has taken me to finish. I feel absolutely terrible about that. :( I'm using this fic as my project for Camp NaNoWriMo next month, though, so I can say for sure that the next few chapters won't take me more than a year to write.

_Taylor_

I stared blankly at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognising that it belonged to me. My hands were gripping the rim of the sink so tightly my knuckles had turned white, and my shoulders were beginning to ache from the sheer effort of keeping myself upright.

It had been only two days since I’d found out that the hell that Isobel had just spent nearly two months going through had all been for nothing – two days that I’d spent mostly in a daze, more or less completely numb. I had known the whole time that failure was a very real possibility, but it didn’t make the reality of it hurt any less. I was running mostly on nothing more than adrenaline – during the last forty-eight hours I’d barely eaten, I’d slept the bare minimum that I could get away with, and I’d been chasing any and all residual exhaustion away with as much coffee as I could drink without risking a caffeine overdose. It was pretty much the only way I knew how to deal with the fact that I could lose Isobel a lot sooner than I was ready to. Not that I would ever be ready to deal with losing her.

A knock sounded at the bathroom door, and I tore my focus away from my reflection. “Yeah, come in,” I said as I released my grip on the sink and forced myself to straighten up. I looked over at the doorway just in time to see Marian step through it. “Hey,” I said quietly.

“Are you all right?” Marian asked. “You’ve been in here for quite a while.”

For a split second I seriously contemplated lying to her, but then I remembered that right at that moment Marian was the closest thing I had to a mother (my own mother being back home in the United States), and I never lied to my mother if I could help it. So instead I shook my head. “It’s been a long time since I was anything close to ‘all right’,” I said. I hated saying it, even though I knew it was true. One of the only reasons I was coping nowadays was Isobel – she kept me sane and grounded, and every minute that we had to be apart was a harsh reminder of just how much the two of us relied on one another. “But for now I’ll be okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Marian said, sounding more than a little dubious, and I nodded. “All right. Did you still want to go up to Sydney today?”

I had to take a few moments to think about my answer. If Isobel knew I hadn’t been taking care of myself, she would come down on top of me like the proverbial tonne of bricks – and if I went up there to see her in the state I was currently in, she’d find out first-hand rather than from other sources. That was not something I wanted to happen.

“As much as I want to see her right now, it’s probably not a good idea,” I replied somewhat reluctantly. “She’ll see that I’m not looking after myself and she’ll yell at me.”

“I think that’s probably for the best right now. No sense in worrying Isobel more than she likely is already.” Marian came up beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Come downstairs and I’ll make you a cup of tea. You’ve had enough coffee for now.”

“You sound like my mother,” I remarked as she led me out of the bathroom.

“Well, I _am_ your mother-in-law,” was Marian’s response. She sounded mildly amused by this.

“Good point,” I conceded.

My cell phone rang just as Marian was pouring hot water from the kettle into our mugs, blasting out _Chasing Cars_ from the pocket of my jeans. I worked my phone from my pocket, flipped it open and answered it without bothering to check the screen. “Hey Issie.”

“Hey Tay,” Isobel said. She sounded exhausted, and I bit down hard on my bottom lip. I hated to hear her sounding that way. “What’s up?”

“I’m just about to have a cup of tea with your mom,” I replied. “She seems to think I’ve had enough coffee.” Isobel let out a rough chuckle at this. “It’s not funny, Issie.”

“Yes it is. It’s very funny. I’ve been wondering since we started going out how much coffee you can drink before you reach your limit, and it looks like my mum finally found out what it is.” She paused briefly. “Were you still planning on coming up today? It’s just that I decided what I’m going to do, and I don’t really want to tell you over the phone.”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Of course I’ll come.” I glanced up at the clock on the wall – its face gave the time as roughly two o’clock. If Marian and I left now – because there was no way I was going to drive up there on my own – we’d be there at around half-past three, though I doubted we would be able to leave right away. “We should be there around four-ish, I reckon.”

“Sounds good to me.” She was quiet for a little while. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” I echoed, before ending the call.

Just like almost every other time I had visited Isobel in hospital, she was asleep. And just like almost every other time I’d visited her, almost as soon as I sat down at her bedside she woke up. She smiled a little when she saw me. “Hey,” she said. Her focus shifted away from me and locked onto her mother. “Hey Mum.”

“How are you feeling?” Marian asked.

Isobel didn’t answer straight away. Instead she shifted herself onto her back, wincing the whole way. I got up from my seat and helped her to sit up, propping her pillows against the head of her bed so that she could lean against them. “Thanks,” she said with a sigh of what sounded like relief. “I’ve definitely been better, I think,” she added, answering her mother at last. “I’m over the pneumonia at least, and that damn rash is almost gone.” She stretched out her arms so that we could see what she meant – the rash on her arms was far less angry-looking than it had been, which meant that some of her medication was doing its job. I was thankful for that much at least. “I just wish the transplant hadn’t failed so that I could get the hell out of here.”

“So what did you decide to do?” I asked, deciding to get straight to the point.

“You’re going to hate me for this,” Isobel said quietly.

“No, I’m not,” I assured her. “Come on, tell me.”

“You remember how I said that Dr. Chambers gave me three options?” she asked, and I nodded. “She…she actually gave me four.” She then proceeded to count off on her fingers. “Trying to locate a second unrelated donor, an autologous transplant, a few more rounds of high-dose chemo, and moving to low-dose chemotherapy to keep the leukaemia in check until such a time as I decide to try for another transplant or the chemotherapy stops working.”

When she dropped her gaze to her lap, I got the impression that I wasn’t going to like what she had to say very much.

“Dr. Chambers and I talked about it this morning, and I’ve decided not to go ahead with a second transplant. At least not right away. I’m not doing the high-dose chemo either. I…I can’t take another round of chemo like the one I just went through. And there is no way in hell I’m going back on the immunosuppressants any time soon. You both saw what they did to me. I caught _pneumonia_ for crying out loud, and it nearly killed me. I can’t go through that again.”

She twisted her blankets around between her fingers. “I decided to go ahead with the low-dose chemo. I just think I could handle it a lot better, and Dr. Chambers agrees with me.” She let out another quiet sigh. “She’s going to give me a chance to completely recover from the GVHD and the failed transplant, then she’ll start me on the new chemo. Once she’s happy it’s working well, I’ll be able to come home.”

“As long as you’re certain that this is what you want,” Marian said, and Isobel nodded.

“It’s not going to cure me,” Isobel said. “It’ll just keep things under control for as long as possible. Who knows, I might decide in a few months that I want to attempt another transplant.” She shrugged a little. “Or then again, I might not. I’ll see how things go over the next few months.”

Here Isobel’s tone became tentative, almost as if she were worried that her next words would set me off, and I knew she’d noticed my silence. “Tay?” she asked. “You okay?”

And that was when I did something I had sworn to myself I would never do – something I knew I was going to regret for a very long time.

“I’m fine,” I lied, and forced a smile before getting up from my seat and heading out into the corridor. Once I was well away from the door of Isobel’s room I leaned against the corridor wall, tipped my head back and closed my eyes.

I had promised Isobel right at the beginning of this whole ordeal that I would be by her side every step of the way – a promise that I had repeated only a few weeks earlier. And yet here I was, standing in the corridor at least six doors down from Isobel’s room. Not only had I walked out on her, but I’d lied to her face. I had sworn to myself numerous times that I would never allow myself to do either.

“I am a terrible person,” I mumbled, feeling more than a little guilty.

“I wouldn’t say that,” a voice said beside me, and I looked over to my right. Marian stood there, eyeing me with one eyebrow raised. “She’s sleeping,” she added in answer to one of my many unspoken questions.

“Please don’t tell me I made her cry,” I said, trying not to sound desperate.

“You didn’t make her cry,” Marian assured me. “But I’m not going to say that you didn’t upset her.”

“Oh fucking _wonderful_ ,” I groaned. “I can’t do anything right, can I?”

Marian didn’t respond to this. Instead she put a hand on my right shoulder and started to steer me down the corridor. “Come on. Isobel will be sleeping for a little while, so how about we head over to the cafeteria and grab some dinner? I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Yeah I am, actually,” I admitted. It was the first time in days that I actually had been hungry enough to eat more than the bare minimum.

“Good. You were beginning to worry me.”

Over in the main hospital building, we took a lift up to level four and the hospital cafeteria, Café Jacaranda. I stayed mostly quiet as Marian put in our orders for dinner, only speaking when she prompted me to do so. I was thankful that she wasn’t pushing me to be talkative – Isobel’s admission that she wasn’t planning to keep going with the high-intensity chemotherapy had completely rattled me, to the point where I wasn’t sure I _could_ talk. I knew why she wasn’t doing it, and I could hardly blame her for it, but it didn’t mean I _liked_ it.

“I know you hate the decision that Isobel’s made,” Marian said once the two of us had found seats in the cafeteria with our dinner – a chicken, cheese and tomato sandwich for me, and a chicken Caesar salad for Marian. “Believe me when I say that I do too.” She leaned forward over her dinner so that she could look right at me. “But can you really blame her for it? It was so much harder on her this time than it was when she was little, and I wouldn’t have blamed her for a second if she had decided to stop it altogether.”

“I don’t blame her at all,” I assured Marian. “I know it’s been hard on her. It’s just…” I picked at the crust of my sandwich as I tried to figure out what I wanted to say. “I broke a promise to her. When we first found out that she was sick, I swore I’d be beside her every step of the way, and right now I’m not. I walked out on her. Never mind that I pretty much just lied to her face. I promised myself when we first started dating that I would never lie to her if I could help it.”

“Sometimes lies are necessary, though.” Marian ate a couple of bites of salad before continuing her thread. “Tell me something, and be honest with me – if you had told Isobel the truth when she asked if you were okay, instead of lying about it, what would you have done?”

Marian’s question took me a little aback, and I found myself having to consider my answer. “Honestly?” I asked, and Marian nodded. “I probably would have started yelling at her. And I didn’t want to scare her so I walked out.”

“Which is completely understandable. I’m almost positive that if you tell Isobel that the next time you see her, she’ll feel the same way.”

I managed a small smile. “I hope you’re right, Marian.”

* * *

I peered cautiously through the open door of Isobel’s hospital room, biting down hard on my bottom lip at what I saw. Isobel lay curled up on her left side, her central line trailing back over her right shoulder, staring at something only she was able to see. She looked absolutely miserable, something I knew I was partly the cause of. Behind my back I held a bunch of red and white roses, part of the apology I needed to make as soon as I was inside Isobel’s room. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure I would be able to say the words I needed to before Isobel started laying into me.

It had been a full week since we had seen or spoken to one another. Isobel hadn’t called or texted me once, and I knew almost instinctively that it was because she was pretty damn angry with me. I’d needed to give her space to let her anger simmer – if I hadn’t, I would have ended up with worse than the slapped face that I knew awaited me the second I stepped into her hospital room.

There was really no point in standing around in the corridor longer than I had already, so I tapped on the door to get Isobel’s attention. She looked over at me, and I winced involuntarily when she shot a glare at me. “ _Go away_ ,” she mouthed, but I shook my head and slipped through the gap the open door had left. “Jordan, I told you to go away,” she said as I walked up to her side.

“Issie-” I started – the only word I was able to get out before she sat up and slapped me right across the face.

“You don’t get to say _one word_ to me, Jordan Taylor Hanson,” Isobel said. I had never seen her this angry before, and I never wanted to ever again. “What was it you said to me after we found out my diagnosis?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Well?” she prompted.

“That I would be with you every step of the way, and you wouldn’t be alone,” I replied.

“You _also_ said that you would be behind me one hundred percent in anything I decided to do,” she reminded me, and I nodded mutely. “And what did you do last week? _You_ _walked out on me!_ ” she shouted, her voice breaking on the last word. “You walked out on me, Taylor!” The first of what I knew would be many tears fell from her eyes then, and I put the roses down on the end of her bed before dropping to my knees at her side.

“Issie, please don’t cry,” I whispered, and she shook her head. “I know what I did Issie, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it, no matter how angry or upset I was – I should have stayed with you. I know that.” I reached up and wiped her tears away with my thumbs. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“How am I supposed to believe that? You already broke two promises to me.”

She had a point. “You have no reason to believe me,” I admitted. “I know that. But I won’t break this one.” I got back to my feet and picked the roses up again, and held them out to Isobel. “Forgive me, please?”

She spent a few moments eyeing the roses before finally nodding and taking them from me. “I forgive you,” she said quietly. “But just this once. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than roses to get me to forgive you next time.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I said, before tucking Isobel’s hair behind her right ear. Her eyes drifted shut, and I felt more than saw her lean into my touch. That was all the prompting I needed to sit down on the bed beside her and draw her close. Silent sobbing wracked her slender frame the instant I wrapped my arms around her, and I rubbed her back in slow, lazy circles in an attempt to soothe her. “Shh,” I whispered, beginning to rock her slowly. “It’s okay Issie, it’s okay…”

It was a few minutes before Isobel’s crying tapered off, and she raised her head up off my shoulder. “Thanks,” she said quietly, before giving me a weak smile. “And…I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“I deserved it,” I said. “You had every right to hit me.” She touched my face, right on the spot where she had slapped me. I couldn’t hold back a wince as her fingertips brushed over it. “Ow.”

“I really am sorry about that.”

“Like I said, I deserved it.” I leaned in close and kissed Isobel on her forehead. “Has Dr. Chambers talked to you yet about what happens next?”

“A little bit, but not much. I told her I wanted to wait until she was able to talk to us at the same time. But she has told me that she’s going to refer me to an oncologist in Wollongong so that I don’t have to keep coming up here all the time.” She shrugged. “She started me on the low-intensity chemo on Monday morning – I have to stay on it until I’m discharged, but after that it’ll be up to my new oncologist to decide what happens.”

“I just hope you don’t have to be stuck in hospital all the time.”

Isobel pulled a face. “You and me both. I’m fed up with this place. The sooner I’m out of here the better. I haven’t seen the sun in _weeks_.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “And no, seeing it through the window doesn’t count.”

I considered Isobel’s words for a few moments. “How about I go and ask one of the nurses if it would be okay for you to go outside for a little while? It’s not really all that warm today but it’s pretty sunny.”

“That would be _fantastic_ ,” Isobel said, her tone sounding almost wistful.

I hid a smile. “You sit tight – I’ll go chat to one of the nurses.”

Somewhat to my relief I got the all-clear from one of the nurses to take Isobel out into the hospital grounds for a little while, and soon found myself walking with them back to Isobel’s room with a wheelchair in tow. On the wheelchair’s seat was a blanket that I figured was intended for Isobel to wrap herself up in, and with good reason – the end of August in Sydney did not exactly tend toward warmth, and I had a feeling that the cold outside would cut straight through her.

The icy August chill slammed into the two of us as we left Gloucester House. I could feel it even through my long-sleeved shirt and the thick fleece of my hoodie, so I couldn’t imagine how Isobel was feeling. I figured she had to be a little warmer than me, though – she had a blanket wrapped around her legs, with her dressing gown on over her pyjamas. I watched as she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting the sun’s rays fall onto her face.

“It’s a bit chilly out here,” she commented as I pushed her wheelchair into the courtyard between Gloucester House and the main hospital building.

“I told you it was. You okay though?”

She nodded. “For now I am. Should probably go back inside soon though, that nurse said not to stay out too long. I don’t want to catch pneumonia again.”

We were both quiet for a little while, allowing the sounds of a Thursday afternoon in late August to surround us – traffic driving along Missenden Road and Carillon Avenue, students of the University of Sydney in the grounds of St. Andrew’s College or the nearby sports fields, and other patients in the hospital courtyard.

“Tay?” Isobel asked finally, breaking our quiet.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but…” Isobel twisted the blanket covering her legs around in her fingers. “Why did you walk out?”

“Honestly?” I asked, and Isobel nodded. “Because I was scared. I know that sounds like a complete cop-out, but it’s the truth.”

“Okay, I didn’t expect that.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw her raise an eyebrow at me. “You really were scared?”

“Yeah. I just…I thought that you moving to a lower intensity of chemotherapy meant you were giving up. And I’m terrified of losing you. So…” I shrugged. “I walked out. I think I would have yelled at you if I hadn’t.”

“I wish you’d told me you were scared,” Isobel said. “You’re meant to be able to tell me anything, remember?” Her left hand reached out to me, and I automatically grabbed hold with my right hand and interlaced our fingers. “I wouldn’t have gotten upset at you if you had just _told_ me. Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that.” I glanced quickly down at Isobel’s watch. “Come on, we should probably head back inside. The nurses will probably be wondering where we’ve got to.”

“You’re probably right,” Isobel agreed, sounding only a tiny bit reluctant. She rubbed her right hand along her left arm, and I knew almost instinctively that she was getting cold. Not that I was surprised – it hadn’t gotten any warmer in the time we’d been outside. I got back to my feet, letting go of her hand, and took hold of the handles of her wheelchair again.

Somewhat surprisingly, at least to me, Dr. Chambers was waiting for us in Isobel’s hospital room. “Good afternoon Isobel,” she said, sounding cheerful. “Good afternoon Taylor.”

“Afternoon,” Isobel said as she got out of the wheelchair and back into her bed. “I didn’t know you were coming to see me today. The nurses haven’t said anything.”

“They mentioned that your husband was visiting today, and you did say you wanted to wait until I could talk to you both together.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Isobel said.

“Isobel told me that you’re going to refer her to see an oncologist in Wollongong,” I said as I took a seat next to Isobel’s bed. Dr. Chambers in her turn did the same, pulling up a chair to face Isobel and I.

“I will be, yes. I’ve been talking with a Dr. Corbett at the Illawarra Cancer Care Centre, at Wollongong Hospital, and she’s indicated to me that she would like to see you first thing on Monday morning.”

Isobel realised what Dr. Chambers was hinting at about two seconds before I did. “I’m going home?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

“You are,” Dr. Chambers replied. “I’ll be discharging you on Sunday morning.”

Sunday morning. Isobel was finally coming home on Sunday morning. I resisted the overwhelming temptation to start cheering out loud, knowing that would only serve to make me look like an idiot. Inside, though, I was just about turning cartwheels. Things were far from over at this point, but Isobel was finally well enough to come home – that was the main thing right now as far as I was concerned.

“What do you need us to do until then?” I asked, guessing that Isobel was too overwhelmed by the news that Dr. Chambers was turning her loose at long last.

Dr. Chambers’ initial response was to open the folder she held on her lap and start rifling through its contents. “I’ll be printing a referral letter on Sunday,” she said as she located what she was looking for. “But what I will need you to do, Taylor, is get in contact with Dr. Corbett and confirm Isobel’s appointment. It’s been set for nine-thirty in the morning on the thirty-first, but that time may need to be changed. Dr. Corbett will let you know if that’s the case.” She handed me a business card that had the name _Dr. Anneliese Corbett_ and a phone number on it, which I immediately slipped into my wallet so that I didn’t lose it. “In the meantime, I’m going to change your treatment just a little bit, Isobel.”

“In what way?” Isobel asked. She sounded just a little apprehensive.

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Dr. Chambers assured her. “Rather than have you on the lower dose of idarubicin via your central line as an IV, I’m going to move you onto taking it in pill form instead. I can’t do the same with the cytarabine, unfortunately – you’ll still need to take that via your central line, but Dr. Corbett should be able to work something out with you. It’s entirely possible that you will only need to receive that particular drug once a week.”

“Okay,” Isobel said. “That sounds good.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Chambers gave the two of us a smile and stood up. “I’m sure that you both want to celebrate Isobel’s homecoming, so I’ll leave you be for now. I’ll see you again on Sunday.”

“Thank you, Dr. Chambers,” I said.

“Holy shit,” Isobel whispered once the two of us were alone once more. “Did you hear what she just said?” Her hands started to shake. “I’m going home.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “I’m going _home_ , Tay. I never thought I’d be able to say that so soon.”

My immediate response was to get up on Isobel’s bed beside her and draw her close once more. In all truth, I had never expected that she would be released so soon, though I didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, I leaned in a little closer and kissed her forehead again. Our long journey was far from over, and there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that it was going to be far from easy. I put it out of my mind, though, choosing instead to focus on what lay in our immediate future – the bright lights of Wollongong that, in three days, would be welcoming Isobel home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Fix You_ \- Coldplay
> 
> \+ The colours of the roses that Taylor gives to Isobel do have a bit of meaning behind them - according to the site iFlorist (http://www.iflorist.com/t-meaning.aspx) among other things red roses symbolise love, and white roses symbolise humility.  
> \+ Gloucester House is home to the Sydney Cancer Centre at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital.  
> \+ St. Andrew's College is a student residential college at the University of Sydney, Australia's oldest university.


	8. 8. …ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope

_Isobel_

When I woke up on Sunday morning, the day I was due to be released from hospital, it was so early that the sun wasn’t even above the horizon. My hospital room was still dark, lit only by light from the corridor, and the only sounds I could hear were the faint squeaking of nurses’ shoes against the linoleum floors and distant, early morning traffic wending its way through the city. A quick glance at my watch revealed the time to be five-thirty in the morning.

“Bloody _hell_ ,” I groaned quietly. I knew exactly why I’d woken up so early – it was due to nothing more than anticipation of the fact that after two-and-a-half long months stuck in hospital, I was _finally_ being turned loose. I was still on chemotherapy – that was something that wouldn’t be changing anytime soon – but the fact remained that Dr. Chambers had decided I was well enough to continue my treatment a lot closer to home. Right now, that was what mattered the most.

I knew from experience that there was no way I was going to be able to sleep again anytime soon, and nor was there any point in doing so – after spending a total of six-and-a-half months on the road during the last two years, I was well-conditioned to getting up early. Never mind that in around half an hour the nurses would be starting their morning rounds, which I would have been woken up for anyway. And I didn’t want to watch TV – this early in the morning, there was nothing on except for early-morning news, TV shows at least three decades old and home shopping shows, none of which interested me.

A few moments later, my decision of how I was going to spend the next half-hour of my time before rounds started was made for me – a low rattle and buzz started up in the top drawer of my bedside table, which I instantly knew was coming from my phone. I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protests of my joints as I moved, and reached for the drawer’s handle.

“Hello?” I said quietly once my phone was flipped open. Technically I wasn’t even supposed to have my phone with me, hence me keeping it in my bedside table’s top drawer. It didn’t matter that I was going home that morning – I still didn’t want to get in trouble.

“Hey Issie,” Taylor said, and I found it hard to bite back a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be up so early.”

“I can’t sleep,” I admitted, scrubbing a hand over my face as I spoke. “Woke up a few minutes ago. I think I’m too excited about coming home today.”

“Yeah, me too. I’ve been up since five.” He let out a rusty-sounding chuckle. “I know I can’t actually come and get you until ten but it doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it any less.”

“Me neither. It’s going to be so nice to sleep in _our_ bed tonight. I never thought I’d miss it so much. I never thought I’d miss _home_ so much.” I wasn’t lying – I missed home like nothing else. I missed the quiet of our street, I missed sitting out in our backyard, I even missed the sounds of the chickens, turkeys, cows and roosters in the farm two streets behind us. I missed _everything_. “You’re coming up at ten, right?”

“Yeah, probably. I’m thinking about leaving at…” He trailed off, and I figured he was studying the clock in our kitchen. “Probably at around eight-thirty. If the traffic’s really bad I probably won’t get to the hospital until ten-thirty.”

“You’re not getting the train up?”

“Not this time,” he replied, and I could almost see him shaking his head. “I didn’t think you’d want to spend two hours on the train when you’ve been in hospital for so long. I know I wouldn’t want to. Besides if I drive up, we can go out for lunch without worrying if we’re going to miss our train home. If you wanted to, that is,” he appended. “I know what hospital food is like.”

“Lunch sounds _wonderful_ ,” I said. After two months of frankly unappetising hospital food that I had only eaten because I really had no other option, even something as unhealthy as McDonald’s sounded like a small piece of heaven right now. “I never want to touch hospital food again for as long as I live.” I gave an almost theatrical shudder, even though I knew damn well that Taylor wouldn’t be able to see it. Even so, he let out a quiet laugh.

We kept on talking even as the pale twilight slipped through the gap in the curtains at my window, and activity in the corridor outside increased. That sound in particular was my cue to say goodbye, at least until Taylor came to pick me up.

“Rounds are starting,” I said apologetically. “I’d better go – I don’t want to get in trouble for having my phone out. See you in a few hours?”

“See you then,” Taylor replied. “Love you Issie.”

“Love you too, Tay.”

As soon as we had both hung up I set my phone to stop vibrating when it rang and hid it back in its drawer. With nothing else to occupy my time until a nurse came in to check on me, I found the remote for my TV and clicked it on. Sunday morning TV wasn’t all that interesting or entertaining, to be honest, but at least it would keep me from getting too bored.

I had been watching some nameless woman on _Weekend Sunrise_ extolling the virtues of a steam iron for around fifteen minutes when the door of my room creaked open. I looked away from the TV to see one of the nurses poking her head through the doorway, light spilling into my room from the corridor as the door opened.

“Everything okay?” she asked once she saw I was awake, and I nodded. “Fantastic. Just going to give you a quick once-over before breakfast, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, sitting up properly rather than raising up the head of my bed. The fluorescent light went on above my head, and I squinted involuntarily against the glare. “Definitely not going to miss this,” I commented as the nurse unhooked her stethoscope from around her neck, raised the back of my pyjama top up around my shoulders and pressed the stethoscope against my back. “Holy shit that’s cold.”

The nurse gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Isobel. It won’t take long.”

“S’all right,” I mumbled, deciding to just grit my teeth and bear it. I was going home today, after all – a small amount of discomfort for a few moments wouldn’t hurt me.

She was as good as her word, and within a couple of minutes she was done. “Everything sounds good to me,” she said as she took her stethoscope’s earpieces out of her ears, and I pulled my pyjama top back down to where it belonged. She moved down to the end of my bed and took my chart out of its holder, flipped it open and scribbled something on one of its pages. “Going home today, I see,” she commented.

“Yep,” I replied. “Doc’s turning me loose at ten.” _About damn time too_ , I grumbled mentally. “My husband’s coming up from Wollongong to pick me up.”

“That’s a bit of a hike,” she commented, now taking a digital thermometer out of a pocket and motioning for me to tip my head toward my right shoulder. I shrugged briefly at her comment, right before she stuck the thermometer’s probe in my left ear. “Looking forward to heading home?”

“You have _no_ idea,” I replied. “It’ll take us a couple of hours to get home but I don’t really care. I finally get to sleep in my own bed tonight. That’ll make the trip worth it.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the nurse smile at this, and she took the thermometer out of my ear. “Well, I hope the two of you have a safe trip home,” she said, making one final note in my chart before replacing it in its holder.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile of my own.

I was left mostly to my own devices for the next few hours, interrupted only when hospital catering came around with my breakfast and again when a different nurse came by with my morning dose of medication. When nine o’clock rolled around, I switched off my TV for the last time and pushed my covers back. It was time for me to get myself ready to go home, and first on the agenda was a shower. Taylor had brought some of my winter clothes from home the day before – my well-worn jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, my hoodie, socks and my sneakers. I opened the cabinet in my bedside table and took my clothes, my toiletry kit and a towel out of it, and headed off toward the women’s showers.

It was almost a quarter to ten before Dr. Chambers came to see me for the last time. By this time I’d had my shower and dressed, and packed all of the belongings I had accumulated during my two-and-a-half months in hospital away in my duffle bag and my backpack. All that there was left to be done now was for Dr. Chambers to sign off on my discharge, collect my medication from the hospital pharmacy, and wait in the discharge lounge for Taylor to come and get me.

“I think I will leave it up to Dr. Corbett as to whether or not she wants your central line to be left in,” Dr. Chambers said once she had given me a more thorough check-up than the one I’d already had that morning. “Were it up to me I would remove it, but you have said you may try for another transplant in the future – it’s entirely likely that if it _was_ removed, you’d need to have it put back in later. Just make sure you keep the caps on tight, and once Dr. Corbett has you back in treatment flush it out about once a week. She’ll show you how to do that. Okay?”

I nodded. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

“Just to take things easy at first – ease back into everything gradually. Be selfish for a little while.” Dr. Chambers gave me a smile, one I readily returned. “Now then, if you’re ready I’ll take you over to the pharmacy so you can pick up your medication. Is anyone coming to pick you up?”

I nodded again. “My husband is. He should be here soon.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Does he know where to find you?”

“I’m pretty sure he does.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Chambers gave me another smile and led the way out of my now-bare hospital room. I didn’t glance back once as I followed her out into the corridor.

I had been sitting alone in the discharge lounge for around fifteen minutes, the pill packet containing my next five doses of idarubicin and my discharge papers stowed safely in my backpack, when the door creaked open and Taylor poked his head through the gap. The instant his gaze landed on me I saw his eyes light right up. “Hey beautiful,” he said. “Ready to go home?”

“You have _no_ idea,” I said as I eased myself to my feet. “I never want to see the inside of this place again for as long as I live.” Taylor opened the door wider, and I made to duck under his outstretched arm before a hand on my shoulder stopped me. “What the hell, Tay?”

“Close your eyes,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me. “Got a surprise for you.”

“I hate surprises,” I grumbled, but I did as I was told. The second my eyes were closed I felt something being pulled onto my head, down over my ears, and something with a little bit of weight to it brushed against each of my shoulders – pompoms on long woollen strings, it turned out when I touched them.

“It’s a beanie,” Taylor explained when I had opened my eyes. “I popped into Jay Jays in Pitt Street Mall before I came over here and bought it for you.”

“It’s warm,” I said. My new beanie was striped in different, alternating shades of blue, and I could feel a third pompom atop my head. “Thanks, Tay.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome, Issie.” He slung an arm around my shoulders and planted a kiss on my cheek. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

We didn’t go straight home. Instead, we caught a train from Newtown station into the Sydney CBD – Taylor had parked his car in the carpark of Central station – heading for The Galeries after we had hopped off our train at Town Hall.

“I missed this,” I said as we walked through the shopping centre, hand in hand.

“Missed what?”

I didn’t answer at first, staying silent as we walked past various stores – Gloss, Valleygirl, Kagui, Industrie, Boost Juice and Mero Mero to name just a few. “Just…being together. I didn’t realise how much I missed it until I didn’t have it every day.”

“I missed it too.” We stopped walking right in the middle of the food court, and Taylor’s free hand reached around to the back of my head. He ran it through the curls that stuck out from beneath the back of my beanie – I could feel him twisting a few of them around his fingers, and I allowed my eyes to drift closed. “I don’t want us to be separated for that long ever again,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of speech that filled the food court.

“Me neither,” I agreed. We both knew I was living on borrowed time – the low-dose chemotherapy could fail when I least wanted or expected it to. I didn’t dare mention that, though – I just wanted to live my life while I still could, without the threat of death hanging over my head like an executioner’s axe, and I knew that Taylor wanted the same thing. I didn’t even need to look at him to know it – it was purely instinctive.

It was late afternoon by the time we made it home. I had stayed mostly quiet during the drive down the coast, opting to stare out the front passenger window rather than trying to make conversation. It wasn’t until Taylor turned into our driveway and up in front of the garage that I shook myself out of my reverie. The second I spotted my mother standing on the front porch, Ratchet sitting obediently next to her feet, I smiled.

Home. I was finally home.

* * *

Bright and early on Monday morning, Taylor and I stood hand in hand on the footpath outside Wollongong Hospital’s Illawarra Cancer Care Centre, right in the heart of Wollongong. It honestly looked a little intimidating – the exterior was all redbrick, glass, and white and pale yellow sandstone, with three glazed terracotta plant pots at the end of the brick path that led up to the doors – and I could only hope that once we got inside I wouldn’t feel so freaked out.

“You okay Issie?”

I tore my gaze away from the building exterior and looked over at Taylor. He was looking at me with his bottom lip drawn in between his teeth, clearly concerned. “Not really,” I admitted, not wanting to lie to him. “I don’t really want to do this.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t. Believe me, I know.” He let go of my hand and drew me a little closer to his side. “Come on. Sooner we go inside and get your appointment over and done with, the sooner we can go home.”

He was right and I knew it, so I nodded. “Right. Let’s go.”

It was quieter inside than it had been outside, I discovered as we walked into the waiting area, the din of passing traffic blocked out and replaced with soft music. The clinic didn’t even feel like it was part of a hospital – the walls were painted pale blue, with framed landscape photographs hung upon them. I swallowed hard and walked up to the reception desk, causing the receptionist on duty to look up from her computer. “I have an appointment to see Dr. Corbett at nine-thirty,” I told her, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking. Taylor’s hand found mine again and squeezed hard. “My name’s Isobel Hanson.”

“Isobel Hanson…ah, here we are,” she said, sounding triumphant as she found my name. “Do you have a referral letter from your previous oncologist?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again, and I dug around in my handbag for the sealed envelope that Dr. Chambers had given to me the previous morning. I hadn’t even been tempted to open it, knowing that it wasn’t intended for me to read. The receptionist took the envelope from me and gave me a reassuring smile. “Take a seat, Ms. Hanson,” she said. “Dr. Corbett will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” Taylor said, before gently turning me around and guiding me over to one of the rows of seats that filled the waiting area. “Issie, you’re shaking,” he said quietly once we were sitting down.

“I am?”

Taylor nodded. “Just a little bit, but yeah you are.”

“Great,” I grumbled. “That’s the last thing I need this morning.”

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay, Issie. I know you’re nervous.” One of his arms snaked around my shoulders, his fingers starting to draw circles on my left shoulder. “It’s okay to be nervous. Hell, I get nervous every time I have to have tests done – I’m terrified of what the results could be. There are a whole lot of things the CFS could be hiding, and I’m always worried that one of these days I’ll end up with one of them. I’ve been lucky so far – the CFS is bad enough on its own. I can’t imagine what would happen if that ever changed.”

He didn’t say anything more on the subject after that, but I could tell what he meant. It wasn’t exactly hard to figure it out.

“Isobel Hanson?”

The unfamiliar voice calling out my name made me look up. Standing near the reception desk was someone I knew instantly was my new oncologist, Dr. Corbett, and I swallowed hard. Beside me Taylor had got out of his seat. “Come on Issie,” he said softly as he guided me to my feet.

My nervousness didn’t abate even as the three of us entered Dr. Corbett’s office and closed the door behind us. “Take a seat,” she said, indicating the comfortable-looking two-seater lounge that sat against one of the walls. For her part she pulled up a chair in front of the lounge and sat herself down in it. “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous, Isobel – may I call you Isobel?” she asked, and I nodded. “I’m not surprised that you are, to be honest with you. Were I in your position I’d be nervous too.”

“You’d think I’d have been more nervous when I found out I was sick in the first place,” I remarked as I finally took a seat next to Taylor, choosing to sit on my hands so that I didn’t start fidgeting.

Dr. Corbett granted me a smile at this before slitting open the envelope that held my referral letter from Dr. Chambers. “Let’s see here,” she said as she read through the letter. “I see that you’ve just undergone an allogeneic stem cell transplant – oh, that’s unfortunate.” She sounded very sympathetic as she said these last three words, and I realised that she had read that the transplant had failed. “And you’ve now moved onto low-dose treatment in an effort to keep the leukaemia in check, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” I replied softly. “I…” I swallowed hard. “I didn’t feel ready to attempt a second transplant, but I didn’t want to stop the chemo altogether. I’m aware that it won’t work forever – I’m okay with that.”

“Yes, your previous oncologist has indicated this here,” Dr. Corbett said. She folded the letter up and slipped it back into its envelope. “Normally I would recommend that you be treated here as an inpatient, even though you’ve moved onto low-dose chemotherapy,” she said, now getting down to business. “But taking into consideration that you’ve just been discharged from hospital after two-and-a-half months as an inpatient, I feel that would be less than beneficial.”

“That’s a relief,” I commented.

“I can imagine.” Dr. Corbett smiled again. “So this is what I propose we do instead. For the next two months – that is, until the end of October, after which I will reassess your treatment – you will be treated as an outpatient. You will be a patient of both Wollongong Hospital and this treatment centre, but you will be able to return home after your treatment each day.”

“Each day?” I asked, echoing the end of Dr. Corbett’s sentence.

“Each day,” Dr. Corbett confirmed. “The dosage hasn’t changed, but unfortunately there is no provision for the cytarabine to be administered at home – it still needs to be done here. You’ll be able to keep taking the idarubicin at home, though. I’ll write you a prescription before you go home today.”

“Damnit,” I mumbled.

“So how often would Isobel need to come here?” Taylor asked.

“Five days a week,” Dr. Corbett replied. “From, say…” She trailed off, seeming to think her answer over. “Nine in the morning until five in the evening.” She leaned forward in her seat a little and fixed her gaze on me. “It’s a long time to be spending in treatment each day, I do realise that. But you will have one small advantage as an outpatient that our inpatients don’t – you’ll be able to have the weekends off from your treatment.”

“That does make me feel a little better,” I said. “Will I be starting today?”

“We can, if you think you are ready to do so. Otherwise I don’t see why we can’t wait until tomorrow morning.”

I considered this for a little while. In all truth, I wasn’t really ready to start the chemotherapy again today. I had been out of hospital for barely twenty-four hours, after all. But even as I prepared to say I wanted to wait until tomorrow, what I had been told when my illness had been diagnosed popped into my head again – that this particular type of leukaemia was extremely aggressive. It needed to be treated if I wanted it to stay in check. And that meant not waiting another moment.

“I’d like to start today,” I said, feeling very much like I was walking to my own execution with each word that I spoke. But when Taylor’s right hand found my left and squeezed it tightly, I knew I had made the right decision.

“Excellent,” Dr. Corbett said, and she stood up. “If you’ll both come with me through to the clinic, I’ll get things started.”

In almost no time at all I had signed my admission papers so that I could become an outpatient of the treatment centre. Soon afterward I was sitting in a recliner in what could only be the treatment centre’s clinic – it was a large, airy room with walls composed almost entirely of windows. Almost all the other recliners were occupied – I counted ten in total – mostly with other women but I could see a couple of guys as well. I had unzipped my hoodie partway so that my central line could be freed from its confines, and one of the clinic’s nurses had connected it to machine that had an IV bag of clear liquid running through it – the cytarabine that formed half of my treatment.

“Is it all right if I stay with her?” Taylor asked the nurse.

“Yes, of course,” the nurse replied. “Are you a friend?”

“Husband, actually,” he replied, and I held up my left hand to show the nurse my engagement ring and wedding band. At the same time, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Taylor doing the same.

“Oh, of course – I apologise.” The nurse gave the two of us an apologetic smile. “I’ll make sure nobody tries to kick you out.” She checked the small electronic display on my chemotherapy machine. “Right, you should be all set now. If you need anything at all give me a yell, okay?”

“Will do,” I said, giving the nurse a smile of my own. She disappeared for a few moments, bringing back a chair for Taylor to sit on, and headed off on a slow circuit of the room. I let out a quiet sigh and tipped my head back against the headrest of my recliner, looking up at the ceiling. “I hate this,” I murmured.

“Yeah, I know,” Taylor said sympathetically. He took hold of my left hand with his right and interlaced our fingers, and started rubbing a circle on the back of my hand with his thumb. “I’m proud of you, you know that right?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “What for?”

“Because you’re still fighting this. That’s why. I know how hard it’s been for you, and I honestly wouldn’t have blamed you if you decided to stop it altogether.”

“I wanted to,” I admitted quietly. “If I hadn’t been given the option of this” I nodded at the IV bag above my head and the machine next to me “then I would have stopped it. I couldn’t have handled the really intense chemo again so soon.”

“You think you’ll try it again?”

“Honestly?” I asked, and Taylor nodded. “I really don’t know yet. Ask me again in a few months.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, before leaning in close and kissing me on my cheek. “I love you, Isobel Lynn Hanson. Okay? And it doesn’t matter a bit if you decide not to do it after all – I’ll still love you, no matter what.”

I smiled at this and kissed him back. “I know. And I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Shake It Out_ \- Florence + The Machine
> 
> \+ I used an image of the Illawarra Cancer Care Centre from Google Maps Street View that was current as of November 2009 for my description of its exterior. I have never visited it personally, and so my description of the interior is completely fictional.


	9. 9. ...wandering under black skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me far longer to write than I intended it to, and for that I apologise. I start university in a month and so am going to do my best to get the next few chapters written before then, as I anticipate I will soon be insanely busy (even busier than I have been with TAFE, and that's saying quite a bit) and won't have much of a chance to write. :/

_Taylor_

It was still dark when I woke up on the seventeenth of September. I wanted to go back to sleep when I saw the time on my alarm clock – its glowing red digits read _5:30_. Beside me Isobel was still fast asleep on her side of the bed, buried under the quilt up to the bridge of her nose. I gently brushed my hand over her head, careful not to wake her, and bit down hard on my bottom lip when some of her hair came away in my fingers. I knew that it was the one side-effect that she had been dreading the most.

“Tay?” she mumbled sleepily as I eased myself off the bed. She turned her head toward me and opened one tired hazel eye. “What’re you doin’? ‘S too early to be up…”

“Headache,” I lied. What I was really doing that morning, I hoped, would remain a closely-guarded secret between Marian and myself until that weekend. As much as I hated keeping secrets from Isobel, this was something that I needed to keep to myself for the time being.

“Y’kay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.” I gave her a tired smile, which she returned before closing her eyes. I watched her for a few moments before going to my side of our shared wardrobe and sliding its door open.

Marian was sitting at the kitchen table when I made it downstairs, nursing what I guessed to be a steaming mug of tea and reading yesterday’s copy of the _Illawarra Mercury_. She looked up as I pulled out a chair from the table, dropped down onto it and started putting on my runners. “Off for another walk?” she asked, and I nodded.

“Figured I may as well get it out of the way before Issie and I go to Wollongong,” I replied, doing the laces of my right shoe up in a double knot before starting on my left. “The sooner this weekend’s over and done with the better. Saturday night is going to be hell.” I let out a rough chuckle. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

After assuring Marian that I wouldn’t be away any longer than one hour, I filled an empty water bottle from the kitchen tap and screwed the lid on tight. With the distance that I had routinely been walking every morning, I was going to need it when I hit my halfway point. As soon as I had my hoodie on I grabbed my keys and my phone, shoved them into my pockets, and left the house via the back door.

It was dark and quiet outside, the street lit only by a nearby streetlight – considering it was only just past a quarter to six, this wasn’t all that unusual – and for half a second I contemplated going back inside to fetch my iPod. That impulse lasted only as long as it took me to walk from the end of the driveway to the intersection of Taylor Road and Calderwood Road. Besides which, once I crossed the bridge over the creek that divided the rural part of Albion Park from the town itself the early morning sounds of the farms that lined my route would be enough of a soundtrack to keep myself focused on my walk.

It wasn’t long until the houses that lined Calderwood Road gave way to farmland, and the sound of early morning traffic making its way along Tongarra Road was replaced with the lowing of cattle, bleating of sheep and goats, crowing of roosters and neighing of horses. The first time I had walked along this particular route, around a week after Isobel had been admitted to hospital, it had been something of a shock to hear all of the sounds I associated with the country so close to town, never mind the cars, school buses and trucks that went hurtling along the road at high speed during the day. I was used to it by now, but I had since decided to limit my walks to the early morning. Not least of all because there was far less of a risk of some maniac driver knocking me off my feet.

The halfway point of my walk, as it had been every morning for the last few months, was a fencepost on the corner of Calderwood Road and North Macquarie Road. By now the sun had risen, taking a little of the edge off of the early morning chill. I leaned against the fencepost and uncapped my water bottle, and drank about half without even bothering to stop for breath. As much as I knew it was good for me – Dr. Sommers had said as much when she had given me the okay to start going on my morning walks – I was going to be immensely glad when this weekend was over with and my walks could go back to taking Ratchet over to Mood Park of an afternoon after work. In another life I probably wouldn’t have minded the distance all that much, but a four-kilometre walk every morning – two kilometres out to the corner of Calderwood Road and North Macquarie Road, and two kilometres back – on top of the chronic fatigue was exhausting. In the end though, it was for a good cause, and I could hardly argue against that.

By the time I made it back home, I was about falling asleep on my feet. It was all I could do to drag myself up the front steps and inside the front door without collapsing from exhaustion. I elbowed the front door closed behind me and leaned against it, digging my heels into the carpet so that I didn’t fall down, and let my eyes drift closed.

It took a hand touching me on the shoulder an indeterminate amount of time later to make me open my eyes again. Standing right in front of me, looking more than just a little concerned, was Marian.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly, and I nodded. “Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll take Isobel up to Wollongong this morning.”

“I don’t think I can make it back upstairs right now,” I admitted, regretting not for the first time my walk that morning. As far as I was concerned, the sooner Sunday morning rolled around the better. It was going to be a very long time before I let myself be talked into anything like what would be taking place this weekend ever again, that was for sure.

Marian didn’t say a word at this. Instead she gently eased me upright and led me across to the couch, and I collapsed onto it almost bonelessly. I was so tired that I barely registered Marian unlacing and removing my shoes before covering me with the throw rug that was normally draped over the back of the couch, allowing myself to drift into sleep not long afterward.

The face of the clock on the living room wall above the TV gave the time as a quarter past nine when I finally surfaced from sleep. The house was warm and quiet – Isobel, I knew, would have just started her fourth day of chemotherapy for the week, and I figured Marian would be sitting with her for a little while. I fully intended to drop in to see how she was going at some point that afternoon, but I had a somewhat important meeting this morning that I couldn’t really get out of. Not if I wanted this weekend to turn out the way I planned it to.

When I walked into the kitchen, intent on taking my medication and hunting down something for my breakfast, it was to find the packet that held my medication sitting on top of a glass of water on the kitchen bench, and a folded-over piece of notebook paper propped up against the glass. The piece of paper had my name written on it in Isobel’s slightly-shaky handwriting.

Once I had taken my medication, I leaned against the bench and unfolded Isobel’s note. Isobel’s handwriting normally took the form of neat, right-slanting cursive with no unnecessary spaces between words, filling the page she wrote on from margin to edge. In stark contrast to how it normally looked, the handwriting in her note was predominantly print and slanted slightly to the left. I had the feeling that her usual handwriting was beginning to be a little too hard for her to keep up, and I couldn’t blame her in the least.

> _Hey Tay,_
> 
> _I love you._
> 
> _I don’t feel like I tell you that enough lately. But I do love you, with everything that I am. And I’m so sorry that everything’s fucked up so badly._

“It’s not your fault Iss,” I murmured, and continued reading the note.

> _I won’t lie – this is hard. It’s a hell of a lot harder than it was when I was a kid. But having you, Mum and the girls around is helping a lot – it’s making things a lot easier to deal with._
> 
> _Mum is taking me into Wollongong this morning for my chemo – you were out cold on the couch when I came downstairs, and I didn’t want to wake you. I hope you feel better whenever it is that you wake up. :)_
> 
> _Love Issie_

I tried to smile once I had finished reading Isobel’s note, but I couldn’t work up the energy for it. Instead I folded it up again, slipped it into a pocket of my hoodie and set about making myself some breakfast.

At around eleven o’clock, I pulled my car into an empty parking space at Beaton Park in Gwynneville and killed the engine. It was still fairly chilly outside, enough to make me want to stay in my car where it was warm, but I did have somewhere to be. Almost as soon as I had unbuckled my seatbelt and taken my keys out of the ignition I zipped my hoodie up to my chin and pulled my beanie down over my ears, and popped open the driver’s side door. From there it was a simple matter of hauling my wheelchair out of the backseat, unfolding and settling into it, and heading over to the athletics track.

A fairly large group of people was already gathered near the track’s grandstand, all of them bundled up against the early spring chill. I could see Bradley and Craig standing with a couple of women I didn’t recognise at the outer fringes of the group. One of the assemblees, a woman with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail and a large cardboard box next to her feet, looked up from her clipboard as I rolled into a gap near the front and put on the brakes. “Are we all here now, then?” she asked, and there were nods all around. “Excellent. Well then, my name is Kathleen Vickers, and I am pleased to welcome you all to the final meeting for this year’s Illawarra Region Cancer Council NSW Relay For Life. How many of you are doing the Relay for the first time this weekend?”

Somewhat to my surprise, I wasn’t the only person who put a hand up – three other people also raised a hand.

“Oh, excellent!” Kathleen said, sounding pleased. “How about the four of you introduce yourselves, then we’ll get down to the important business of how the event will work this year.”

As my fellow new relayers introduced themselves, I filed their names away in my head for reference that weekend. Chris, who was a carer for his mother. Stephanie, a ten-year survivor of an osteosarcoma (that, as she revealed when she hiked up the left leg of her jeans, had also taken her leg from her and left her with a very realistic prosthesis). Tamara, a mother of three whose oldest daughter had died of a brain tumour.

When my turn came, my fingers tensed around the hem of my hoodie and I swallowed hard. “Um, well, my name’s Taylor,” I said, keeping my voice steady but at the same time knowing that if my voice _did_ start to shake it would be easy enough to blame the cold. “I’m a carer for my wife, who has a really aggressive form of leukaemia – she was diagnosed in June. It…” I blinked against the tears that were beginning to form in my eyes. “It’s hard, but we’re coping as best we can, and she’s still fighting. That’s the main thing right now.” A hand landed on my right shoulder as I finished speaking, and I looked up to see Bradley standing next to me. He gave me a smile before clapping me briefly on the shoulder and stepping away again.

Once the introductions were out of the way, Kathleen went over how the Relay would work on the weekend – it sounded pretty straightforward. It would begin at half past nine that Saturday morning, with registrations opening two hours prior, and conclude at ten o’clock on Sunday. The first lap would be walked by the Relay participants who were either survivors or carers – I counted as a carer for the purposes of the Relay, so I would be part of that group. One person from each team had to be on the track at all times, even overnight. As Kathleen said this, I made a mental note to work out a roster with Bradley and Craig so that our team could comply with this rule. I knew there were twelve of us on the team, which meant we would each be walking the track twice – and that one of those walks would be in the dead of night. It was perhaps the only part of the Relay I was dreading.

We were dismissed not long afterward, and I decided to head back into town so that I could drop in on Isobel. It didn’t take me long to drive up to the hospital and park in the carpark across the road, and I was soon walking along the bridge that connected the carpark to the hospital, my joints protesting the whole way.

Isobel was dozing in one of the recliners spaced around the outpatient treatment room when I arrived, a black bandanna patterned with brightly-coloured flowers tied over her hair. I swallowed hard when I saw it, knowing that she had realised the same thing I had that morning. Sitting next to Isobel, leafing through a book of crossword puzzles, was Marian.

“How did things go?” Marian asked as I drew level with the two of them. Her voice was quiet, I supposed so that she didn’t wake Isobel up.

“Good,” I replied. “I have to be at Beaton Park no later than half-past nine on Saturday morning. I’ll probably drive myself in again, unless you think Issie will be up to getting there when I do.”

“You should talk to her about that later on, when she’s awake,” Marian said, and she closed her book. “I’m going to go and see about something for lunch – would you like me to get you anything?”

“Just a sandwich and some water,” I replied, sitting down in Marian’s seat once she was standing. “Should hold me over until I get home.” I put my right hand atop Isobel’s left and interlocked our fingers. “See you when you get back.”

As soon as Marian had headed off toward the hospital’s cafeteria, I shifted my chair so that I was facing Isobel in profile and studied her for a little while. It was obvious that the treatment she was undergoing was beginning to take its toll, with her hair starting to fall out only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath her closed eyes was a matched set of dark purple smudges, she was paler than she had been even during the high-intensity chemotherapy, and I could see the faintest hint of an angry-looking rash beginning to creep its way out of the cuffs and collar of her long-sleeved shirt.

“Mum?” she mumbled, and I realised she was waking up. One tired hazel eye dragged itself open, and when she saw me sitting next to her she smiled. “Hey you.”

“Hey yourself,” I said, echoing her smile. “How’re you feeling?”

She had both eyes opened now, and she stretched a little before answering. “Well, my hair’s starting to fall out, I’ve been throwing up almost all morning, I’m aching all over and that fucking rash’s back. But aside from all of that bullshit, I actually feel pretty good.” She eyed me briefly. “What about you? You-” She broke off abruptly and squeezed her eyes shut, the fingers of her left hand tensing hard around mine. “For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled. “Fucking side effects are starting to piss me off.” She drew in a deep breath and slowly reopened her eyes. “You were passed out cold on the couch this morning,” she said, continuing her previous thread. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I assured her. “Was watching TV for a bit while I was waiting for my headache to fuck off and I guess I fell asleep.” It wasn’t the most convincing of lies, and I could only hope Isobel fell for it.

“You should’ve just come back to bed,” Isobel said, her tone faintly chiding. “You wouldn’t have woken me up.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

She smiled a little. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

By the time Marian returned from the cafeteria Isobel had drifted off to sleep again, her left hand curled a little around my right. I slipped my hand out of hers and stood up so that Marian could sit back down again. “Thanks,” I said as she handed me a bottle of water and what looked like a ham, cheese and tomato sandwich. “I’m gonna head back home – want to rest up a bit for tomorrow.”

“All right,” Marian said, and gave me a smile. “Be careful heading back.”

“I will,” I assured her, and leaned down to kiss Isobel on the forehead before heading out of the clinic.

It didn’t take me long to get back to my car. Once I got there I hopped up on its bonnet, as I did whenever I was on my lunch break from work, and looked out at the hospital while I took my medication and ate my lunch. The whole time I sat there I tried desperately to keep my mind completely blank, but a few traitorous thoughts crept back in.

As much as it made me sound like a petulant child, it wasn’t fair. None of what Isobel was going through right now was fair. She had already been through all of this bullshit once, which as far as I was concerned was one time too many. And now she had to endure of all the pain and the misery that came part and parcel with this terrifying and insidious illness all over again. Not for the first time I found myself wishing I could take her place, even though I knew damn well that every time the tests I had to make sure I _didn’t_ have it came back negative I breathed a sigh of relief. But I knew I couldn’t switch places with her – all I could do was support her and make sure she knew she wasn’t alone in this.

I let out a shaky breath and scrubbed a hand over my face. Wishing things could be different wasn’t going to help matters, as much as I wanted it to. It also wasn’t going to make this weekend roll around any faster – going home and having another nap, on the other hand, would help that along quite a bit.

With that particular thought in mind, I slid down off the bonnet of my car and opened the driver’s side door. This coming weekend was going to be hell on wheels, to put it lightly, but it was for a good cause – and more than anything else, that would make it all worth it.

* * *

Saturday morning dawned cold and sunny, the sun already well over the horizon by the time I managed to drag myself out of bed. Isobel’s side of our bed was empty, and I figured she was already up and about. And sure enough, when I ventured downstairs for breakfast I was right – she was sitting at the kitchen table with Marian, poking somewhat listlessly at a bowl of cornflakes. She gave me a small smile when I sat down next to her, a bowl of cornflakes in one hand, a glass of orange juice in the other, and the pill packet that contained my medication clamped between my teeth so I didn’t drop it. “‘Morning, Tay,” she said quietly.

“Everything okay?” I asked once the pill packet was out of my mouth. “You don’t look very happy.”

“I just…” She sighed and put her spoon down on the table. “I’ve been throwing up almost all morning,” she admitted. “Started just before five.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked, popping one of my pills into my mouth and swallowing it with a mouthful of juice once I’d spoken.

“She tried,” Marian replied, and reached out to rub Isobel’s left shoulder. “She couldn’t wake you up in time, though.”

“Besides, you’re sick too – you needed to sleep,” Isobel said. It was right about then that she pushed her chair back and bolted out of the kitchen, one of her hands pressed over her mouth. I pushed my own chair back and stood up, knowing exactly what was happening and that I needed to be with her this time.

I found her bent over the deep sink that sat in a corner of the laundry, her hands holding onto the front edge so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and tears trickled their way down her face. I rubbed her back as she threw up in the sink, holding her hair back off her face with my free hand. Right at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to switch places with her – she didn’t deserve to go through this. Nobody did.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she mumbled. One of her hands uncurled itself from around the edge of the sink and reached out to the cold water tap, turning it on. I steadied her as she rinsed her mouth out. “I can’t keep doing this…”

“Shh,” I whispered. There was so much I wanted to say right then – that it would get better, that she didn’t deserve this – but I kept my mouth shut. She didn’t need to hear any of that. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

“I don’t think I can make it back upstairs,” she said quietly, sounding almost resigned. “I just…I’m so tired, Tay.”

“I know, Issie.” I let go of her hair, some of it coming away from her head, and she straightened up. Her eyes fixated almost immediately on my right hand. Neither of us said a word as she took the handful of dark blonde curls from me, scrunched them up into a tight ball and shoved it into a pocket of her pyjama pants. There weren’t any words to _be_ said – we both knew what it meant.

Isobel was soon settled on the couch in the living room under a blanket. One of the end tables was within her reach, with a glass of water, her phone and the remote controls for the TV and DVD player set out on top. “You get some sleep, okay?” I said. I was crouched down on the floor at her side with my right hand in Isobel’s left under the blanket, my left forearm balanced across my knees.

“You going somewhere?” she asked, raising one eyebrow at me.

“Just a few things I need to take care of,” I said. I gave her a small smile, which she mirrored, and straightened back up again. “I’ll be back later on.”

Beaton Park was already teeming with people when I arrived just before eight o’clock. I wasn’t entirely sure how many people had registered to do this year’s Relay For Life, but the parking lot was just about full so I figured there had to be a lot. I felt a momentary flash of anxiety, one that lasted barely a few seconds, and steeled myself against the cold before getting out of my car. The early spring chill bit into my face, ears and hands, and I yanked the hood of my hoodie up over my head to ward off the worst of it. It might have been September but it hadn’t started to warm up all that much just yet. Being near the sea wasn’t helping matters.

The grassed area between the grandstand and the athletics track was a sea of white and purple, with the grandstand itself a veritable rainbow of colours. I spotted Bradley and Craig standing near the team registration table, heads bent together over what looked like a clipboard, and decided it would be a good idea to wander over to them. Craig looked up from the clipboard as I approached and smiled.

“This place is a madhouse,” were the first words out of my mouth once I was within Bradley and Craig’s collective earshot. “If it gets any louder I think I might go deaf.”

“Welcome to our world,” Craig said, and I cracked a small smile. “We’ve been doing the Relay for the last five years, us two” he gestured to Bradley and himself “and it only gets louder every year.” He clapped me on the shoulder with his free hand. “Ready for the Relay then?”

“Ready as I can be for this early in the morning. And yes, this is early for me – I’m sick, remember?”

“You got your doctor’s okay to do this, right?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah, of course I did. If she’d nixed the idea I wouldn’t have put my hand up in the first place.”

“Just making sure,” he said, and proceeded to tick my name off on the list he had on his clipboard. “Others should be here soon – when we’re all here I’ll get us checked in.”

The last members of our team, a couple of the studio technicians I usually only saw on weekends, arrived just before half past nine. The second Bradley had ticked their names off he headed off to the registration table to sign us all in, and not a moment too soon. Almost as soon as he walked away from the table a sign reading _Registrations Closed_ went up – if there was anyone who turned up late wanting to join in on the fun, they were just going to have to wait until next year.

I spent the fifteen minutes between the beginning of the Relay’s opening ceremony and the Survivors and Carers Walk getting myself ready to do my first lap – making sure the laces on my runners were knotted securely, changing out of the T-shirt and hoodie I had worn from home (mostly so I didn’t let on to Isobel what I was doing this weekend, seeing as it was intended to be a surprise) into my purple long-sleeved Relay For Life shirt and white ‘Carer’ sash (and making sure my sash was pinned into place so it wouldn’t come loose), and checking my phone one last time before my first lap of the track for any messages. There weren’t any that needed to be taken care of immediately, so I silenced my phone and slid it into a pocket of my jeans.

The first lap of the track, walked by all of the cancer survivors and carers who had signed up to take part in the Relay, went off without a hitch. All of the other participants and the event’s spectators cheered from the sidelines as we walked, and despite how worn-out I felt already I couldn’t help but smile. Right now I was making one hell of a difference, and that was worth feeling like I could sleep for a week. I ended up walking the track twice more after my first lap before handing off to Craig, and headed up into the grandstand to catch a few hours’ sleep.

It wasn’t until well after the sun had gone down and the floodlights around the track had been switched on that I saw them. Most of the people who were still hanging around were either participants who were walking their laps or waiting their turn on the track, or family members and friends of the participants doing their best to keep everyone’s spirits up. It was pretty damn cold tonight, and if I hadn’t signed up for the full event I would have gone home already. With most people clustered around the track, two people walking over from the parking lot stood out. It took recognising the blue striped beanie that Isobel wore to make me leave my spot at the side of the track and walk over to where they stood.

“Hey Issie,” I said, doing my best to sound cheerful even despite the cold and how exhausted I was.

“What the hell is going on?” she asked, sounding just a little shocked. “And what are you doing here?”

“Relay For Life,” I replied. “Cancer Council runs it every year.” I shrugged a little. “The transplant didn’t work, so I thought I’d do my part to help you some other way. Signing up to do this was it.”

She looked straight at me then. “You’re doing this for me?” she asked, and I nodded. “But…”

“Dr. Sommers gave me the okay to do it,” I assured her. “She just made me promise to only do a few laps at a time, that’s all. I’m probably going to sleep for a week after I get home, but it’s worth it.”

“You are amazing,” Isobel said softly. “I hope you know that. For you to take part in this, even though I know you’re probably feeling like hell right now…”

“It’s worth it,” I repeated. “Honestly. I don’t care about how much it’s tiring me out. Okay, yeah, I’m going to feel like death warmed over tomorrow morning, but if it means I can make even a little bit of a difference then I don’t care. _You’re_ worth it, Issie.” I stepped a little closer to her and drew her close. “You’re worth everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _Crush_ \- Pendulum
> 
> \+ Albion Park is in a very rural part of the Illawarra, the region where this story is primarily set, and does have farmland directly behind it. The remark about traffic going at high speeds along Calderwood Road is also accurate - as dangerous as it is, due to the high speed limit cars, trucks and school buses do travel fast along that road (unless a farmer is driving their cattle between paddocks).


	10. 10. The struggle she’s seen this spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick announcement: I'll be starting my first year of a Bachelor of Arts degree in two-and-a-half weeks, and so this is likely to be the final chapter of _Follow You Into The Dark_ I'll be posting until at least Easter. I'm determined to finish my degree on time and to the best of my ability, and unfortunately this means my writing has to take something of a backseat. I will keep writing, but I can't make any promises about my update schedule at any point until the end of 2016. Thanks for understanding. :)

_Isobel_

I spat one last time into the toilet and reached up with a shaking hand to flush it, managing to press the half-flush button after a few blind attempts at finding it. Water spilled into the toilet bowl from the cistern, washing away the evidence of what had woken me up at three in the morning for the second night running, and I choked back a quiet sob.

All things considered, I was doing okay. The chemotherapy was doing its job – keeping the leukaemia in check and stopping it from getting any worse than it already was. It was hard, but I was still here and still fighting. That was the main thing right now. I was even managing to get some work done whenever I felt up to it, usually during the weekends. My editor at the _Mercury_ had been more than accommodating during the months since I’d fallen ill, giving me enough leeway to come into work and put in as little or as much time as I felt up to. It meant more to me than I had words to express.

But at the same time, all of this bullshit was wearing at me. My hair was falling out – every morning I woke up to find yet another handful of dark blonde curls on my pillow, spread out in an arc across the dark blue cotton. I had taken to wearing a bandanna over my hair whenever I left the house, both to protect the bare patches of skin on my head from the sun and to stop even more of my hair visibly falling out. It didn’t stop it actually _falling_ out, of course, but it stopped other people from noticing. I was on a lower intensity of treatment but it didn’t stop me feeling like absolute hell most of the time – both of the drugs I was taking had some pretty nasty side-effects, even at the lower dose I’d been prescribed by Dr. Corbett. And the last couple of nights I had woken up at some ungodly hour and bolted for the bathroom, and proceeded to spend what always felt like an eternity knelt in front of the toilet, alternately crying and throwing up. This was the worst part of being sick – knowing that I no longer had complete control over my body.

I twisted myself around so that my back was to the toilet and shifted across to the cabinets beneath the sink, leaning against them and tipping my head back. I had deliberately left the bathroom light off, knowing that the light would hurt my eyes if I switched it on. Now, though, I was wishing I’d at least brought a torch or something with me. There was a full moon tonight but not much of its light had crept in through the bathroom window, leaving me in the dark.

I was in the middle of pushing myself back to my knees when the bathroom door opened, spilling light from the hallway onto the cold, dark green tiles. I reflexively squeezed my eyes closed against the visual onslaught, only opening them again when I felt a hand tucking my hair behind my ears. Taylor was crouched in front of me, concern in his tired blue eyes. “I was wondering where you’d got to,” he said quietly. “You feeling okay?”

I shook my head, not wanting to lie to him. “I just spent ten minutes throwing up, Tay. What do you think?”

He raised his hands in seeming self-defence. “Only asking, Iss.” He shifted out of his crouch and sat down next to me on the bathroom rug. We sat there in relative silence for a little while, the quiet disturbed only by the ticking of the second hand on my watch and our breathing.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

I deliberately kept my gaze fixed on the opposite wall of the bathroom as I said this, not wanting to see the look on Taylor’s face. “Yes you can, Issie,” he said, almost sounding desperate. “You’ve come this far, haven’t you?” When I shrugged, he continued, “I know it’s hard, Issie. Believe me, I know. The chronic fatigue hasn’t got a patch on what _you’ve_ got” I noted that he deliberately didn’t say the L-word, and I couldn’t blame him “but we’re both sick. I know how frustrating it gets.” He slipped his right arm around my shoulders. “And I know this is the last thing you want to hear right now, but it will get better. I promise.” He leaned a little closer and kissed my left temple. “Come on, back to bed. You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Corbett at eight-thirty, don’t forget.”

I sighed. “Don’t remind me. Can you do something for me first, though?”

“Yeah, of course I can.”

I swallowed hard before I answered, knowing there was no going back if I actually went ahead with this. “Shave my hair off for me?”

“If that’s what you want.”

I nodded once. “It is. It’s only going to keep falling out, Tay – I’m sick of waking up every morning and finding more of my own fucking _hair_ on my pillow.” I let out a quiet laugh. “And hell, at least this way I won’t have to keep buying shampoo all the time.”

He let out a laugh of his own. “That’s one way of looking at it.” He took his arm away from my shoulders and got to his feet, extending a hand down to help me up, and led me back to our bedroom and into the ensuite. “Sit down,” he said, pointing at the closed toilet, and opened the cabinet under the sink. Out came his electric hair clippers, and he spent a few moments fiddling with them before plugging them into the outlet next to the mirror. I quickly grabbed a towel and put it around my shoulders seconds before he flicked the clippers on, holding it closed under my chin with one hand, and squeezed my eyes closed as he began shaving my head. It was the strangest feeling in the world to be sitting there in the bathroom while Taylor shaved all of my hair off, but I had to remind myself – it was just going to keep falling out if I didn’t do this. It would grow back once I finished my treatment.

I grew so lost in my own thoughts that I barely heard the buzzing of the clippers shut off. “All done,” he said at last, and I opened my eyes. My free hand immediately went up to my head. Instead of curls I felt rough, spiky stubble, and I felt tears prick at my eyes. _It’s just hair_ , I tried to remind myself. _It’ll grow back_. It wasn’t enough, though, and it wasn’t long before the first tears slid their way down my face.

Taylor immediately unclasped my hand from around the towel and balled it up with my hair still inside, dumping it on the floor before gathering me into his arms. I buried my face in his shoulder and started sobbing out of nothing more than grief. It was vain of me to mourn the loss of my hair, I knew that, but it didn’t stop me doing it. He whispered nonsense words in my ear as he rocked me, his voice growing gradually quieter as I eased ever closer to sleep.

After my little crying fit, I was so tired that I barely noticed Taylor leading me back to bed, and nor did I notice him pulling the quilt up over my shoulders. But before I fell asleep, I did hear something – something I’d never thought I’d ever hear.

I heard Taylor begin to pray.

“I haven’t done this in years so I don’t even know if I’m doing this right, but here goes anyway…” He was quiet for a little while, and when he spoke next I could hear the unmistakable sound of tears in his voice. “I can’t lose her, not like this. She’s my entire world – she’s the whole reason I’m still here. I love her more than I have words to say how much. Just…please don’t take her away from me? That’s all I want right now. I want her to get better, and I don’t want to hear the fucking C-word or the L-word ever again.” His breath hitched just a little. “She makes me a better person that I could ever be on my own. She…she makes me whole. I’d be incomplete without her.”

I’d heard enough by that point – I didn’t want to intrude on Taylor’s prayer more than I already had. So instead of listening to it any further, I tuned out his voice and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, my first port of call after leaving home wasn’t the treatment room at the clinic. Instead, Mum and I found ourselves in Dr. Corbett’s office. Taylor was at home, still fast asleep in bed the last time I’d checked – I’d had a feeling that waking up in the middle of the night and then spending a good half-hour taking care of me had completely worn him out. It made me feel a little guilty, if I was going to be completely honest.

While Dr. Corbett looked over my most recent test results, I fiddled nervously with the tails of my bandanna. Over the last few months I’d started building up a collection, knowing that I would more than likely have some use for them some way down the line. I’d just never thought that time would come so soon.

“Isobel, have you given any thought to palliative care?”

Dr. Corbett’s words slammed into me like a freight train. My hand froze at the back of my head and I stared at her, before shaking my head mutely. Those two words – _palliative care_ – were ones I associated with death. My grandmother had gone into palliative care just before my tenth birthday, a year and a half before I reached my five-year point the first time around. She hadn’t come home ever again.

“Isobel, please, I don’t mean to alarm you,” Dr. Corbett said. “It doesn’t mean you’re dying. Your test results look good – it hasn’t spread as yet. You have nothing to worry about right now. But it is something you may need to consider at one point or another. Your current treatment will not work forever. I can’t tell you when that will happen, but one day it _will_ stop working. You need to be prepared for that eventuality.”

“I know that,” I said quietly. “I just…I didn’t want to think about it just yet.”

“That’s understandable.” Dr. Corbett gave me a smile. “Now, onto other matters – was there anything you would like to discuss before I get you started for today?”

I shook my head again. There really wasn’t anything I wanted to talk about – I just wanted to get things over and done with so that I could go home.

The usual crowd was in the clinic’s treatment room when I walked in and arrowed straight for my usual recliner. I didn’t say a word as one of the nurses connected my central line to the machine that my chemotherapy ran through, itself hooked up to an IV bag of cytarabine, and set it to run for the next eight hours. “Taylor not here today?” she asked.

“He’s at home,” I replied. “Sick at the moment.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” was the nurse’s sympathetic reply. “I hope he feels better soon.”

“Yeah, me too.” I managed a small smile, one that disappeared as my hands suddenly spasmed, clenching involuntarily into fists. “Isn’t that ever going to stop?”

“You’ll have to talk to your oncologist about that.” She gave me a smile. “Give me a yell if you need anything, okay?” I nodded in response, and she headed off around the room.

“I hate this, Mum,” I said quietly. I tilted my head back and gave my chemotherapy machine a half-hearted glare, before closing my eyes and letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Mum gave my left hand a quick squeeze and stood up. “I’ll be back in a little while – I promised your father I’d call him to let him know how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, no worries,” I replied.

I was sorely tempted right then to try and nap for a little while, in a somewhat vain attempt at catching up on the sleep I had lost during the night, but knowing that I would probably start throwing up again soon stopped that particular temptation dead in its tracks. Instead, I leaned over to where I’d stowed my handbag and picked it up, taking out the book I’d borrowed from Taylor’s collection that morning. I had never been much of a fantasy fiction reader, but I had a soft spot for the adventures of Artemis Fowl and Holly Short. If nothing else, it would keep me occupied for a few hours at least.

Determined to make it at least halfway through the book before the nausea that was already creeping up on me became too much of a distraction, I opened the cover of _Artemis Fowl and the Time Paradox_ and began to read.

* * *

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway outside startled me out of a doze, and I propped myself up on my elbows. From my spot on the couch I had an excellent view out of the living room window, even through the curtains, and I allowed myself a small smile at what I saw.

“Hey Iss, look who I found!” Taylor called out as he came inside. Behind him were two of my favourite relatives – his sisters Avery and Zoë. We had planned for months to have them come and visit, but with everything that had been going on lately there just hadn’t been the right moment. The two of them looked absolutely exhausted – part and parcel, I supposed, of spending fourteen hours on a plane from Los Angeles to Sydney, and a further hour and fifteen minutes on the road from the airport to Albion Park – but as soon as Avery spotted me I saw her eyes light right up.

“How are you doing?” she asked me once she and Zoë had taken their things upstairs. Zoë and Taylor were in the kitchen, leaving Avery and I in the living room to catch up.

“I’m doing okay,” I replied. “All of this bullshit sucks, but I’m still here – that’s the main thing right now.”

“What about…” She trailed off, and pulled on the end of her long braid. In response I slipped my bandanna off my head – today it was blue and purple tie-dye – and ran one of my hands over my bare scalp. It hadn’t taken long for the stubble that had remained after Taylor had shaved my hair off to fall out. My bandannas served a dual purpose now – to protect my head from the sun, and to stop people staring at me.

“Taylor shaved it off a couple of weeks ago,” I said as I unknotted my bandanna and covered my head back up, tying it quickly back into place. “It won’t grow back until I’m done with chemo.”

“When do you think that will be?”

I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Could be a few months, could be a few years. It hasn’t started spreading yet so it’s still working properly.” My left hand drifted up to where my central line was hidden beneath my shirt. “I’ve got another session tomorrow.” This said, I decided to change the subject. “So how’s college going?”

“It’s _fantastic_ ,” Avery replied. Her enthusiasm was obvious. I’d never heard anyone sound so excited about what they were doing at college – not even my own siblings. Though if Taylor and I had met while we were both still at college, I might have heard it in his voice. I let my eyes drift closed as I listened to Avery wax lyrical about her classes, her professors, the new friends she had made, and her new life in Los Angeles, not even realising that I was beginning to doze off until I heard Taylor speaking quietly to her.

“Ave, why don’t you come and help Zo and I with lunch?” he said. I could tell by the tone of this voice that it was far from a request. Without a word Avery was up on her feet, the couch cushion next to mine shifting as she moved. I opened my eyes again just in time to see Avery heading over to the kitchen, her long braid swinging slightly as she walked.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Yeah, I did,” Taylor replied. “You were starting to fall asleep.” He cracked a small grin at me. “Feel up to some lunch?”

I shook my head. “I’d rather just have a nap or something. I’m not really hungry right now. I’ll eat later on.”

“Okay.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I ended up sleeping until dinner time, only waking up completely when I heard plates being set out on the kitchen bench. Almost at the same moment a rumble of hunger started up in the region of my stomach, and I eased myself upright just as Mum came into the living room.

“Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry,” she said as she came up to me. “How are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “I don’t feel like I’m about to throw up anytime soon. And yeah, I’m hungry. What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Taylor called out from the kitchen, evidently having heard my question. I found myself smiling at this – it was the first meal that he had cooked for the two of us, more than two and a half years earlier on my twenty-third birthday.

“Nothing wrong with your ears then,” I called back, allowing Mum to help me to my feet as I spoke. His laughter echoed around the kitchen, and I smiled.

Soon, the five of us were gathered around the kitchen table. Conversation quickly turned to something that was celebrated with something akin to wild abandon in the United States, but was only just gradually gaining a foothold in Australia. Halloween.

“So are you doing anything for Halloween this year?” Avery asked once dinner was properly underway. She was studiously twirling spaghetti around her fork as she spoke. “I know it’s not something that really gets celebrated here, but I figured you might have plans anyway.”

“One of my band mates is having a party at her place,” I replied. I nodded at the fridge, where the invitation that Emmanuelle had posted to Taylor and I a few weeks earlier was held in place with a Eureka Flag magnet. “She said that the two of you” I indicated Avery and Zoë with my fork “are more than welcome to come along if you want to.”

“Can we go, Ree?” Zoë asked, and I resisted the temptation to laugh. Zoë was still a kid after all, and I knew very well that neither Avery nor Taylor took kindly to someone laughing at their baby sister. “Please?”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Sounds like fun to me,” Avery replied. “Though I don’t know what I’m going to dress up as.”

“There’s a couple of costume stores in Wollongong,” Taylor said. He speared a meatball with his fork and popped it into his mouth. “I’ll take you and Zo there tomorrow morning after I drop Issie off at the clinic.”

“Awesome, thanks Tay,” Avery said, sounding pleased. I ducked my head down just far enough that nobody could see me smiling, and focused on eating my dinner.

A week later I was sitting on the back deck of Emmanuelle’s house in Balgownie, watching the party as it raged on in the backyard. The vast assortment of costumes in both the yard and in the house behind me was almost dizzying – there were witches, vampires, characters from _Doctor Who_ , _Red Dwarf_ , _Harry Potter_ and a few Disney movies, and some others I didn’t quite recognise. For my part, I was dressed as a pirate – it seemed the most logical costume, what with my bandanna and all. Taylor’s little expedition with his sisters to Capers Costumes and the party store in Spotlight had netted three costumes – the Green Fairy from _Moulin Rouge_ for Avery, Zoë’s Little Red Riding Hood costume, and Taylor’s Fourth Doctor costume. His little obsession with _Doctor Who_ had only increased in the time we’d been Down Under, with the channel ABC2 routinely airing new episodes from David Tennant’s third series on a Sunday night. This, among other things, meant that he no longer had to rely on torrents or the ABC Shop in Sydney to fuel his love of the British television institution, which suited him down to the ground.

The back door slid open, and I looked back over my shoulder to see Pania wandering out onto the deck. She smiled when she saw me, and I managed a small smile of my own in return. “How’re you feeling?” she asked as she came over to sit beside me. She was dressed as Hermione Granger this evening, complete with a very heavy book that currently looked like a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. The book was currently nowhere in sight, and I figured she’d left it inside.

“Okay, I guess,” I replied, which in all honesty was a bare-faced lie. I’d been feeling off most of the day, a lot more than I usually did, but I hadn’t wanted to worry Taylor. I scratched absently at the underside of my left wrist, where a bright red and very itchy rash was doing its level best to piss me off. It was one of the more irritating side-effects of the cytarabine, albeit an uncommon one, and I had been one of the unlucky ones who had ended up with it. Pania reached across me and pushed my hand away from my wrist, and I shot her a grateful look. It was almost compulsive, and I often had no idea I was doing it until either Mum or Taylor stopped me. Taylor in particular had threatened more than once to bandage my fingers together to stop me irritating the rash more than it already was. “Thanks.”

“No worries.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see her studying me. “D’you want to lie down inside for a little while? I’m sure Em won’t mind you having a bit of nap in her bedroom.”

I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”

As I watched the little gathering in the backyard, I could see that a ring was forming around Taylor and Emmanuelle’s sister Valeria, who was dressed as a female version of the Tenth Doctor. The two of them were brandishing their toy sonic screwdrivers at one another as they slowly circled around, with Taylor doing his best not to trip over the ends of his ridiculously long scarf as he moved.

“I’ve never known anyone to be as in love with _Doctor Who_ as Taylor is,” Pania said.

“He gets that from his mum,” I said. “She was kind of obsessed with it in college – Taylor picked it up off her one day when he was something like thirteen or fourteen.” A small wave of dizziness washed over me right as I finished speaking, and I swayed forward a little. “Actually, I think I will lie down for a little while. I’m not feeling too good.”

“Okay, come on.” Pania got up from her seat and eased me upright, keeping an arm around me as we walked inside. We bypassed the living room completely, heading through to the back of the house and into Emmanuelle’s bedroom. I instinctively squeezed my eyes closed just before Pania switched on the overhead light, only opening them again once the bright light had dimmed to something a little less headache-inducing. “Do you want me to go and find Taylor?”

I shook my head. “He’s having way too much fun playing Doctor at the moment. I don’t want to spoil that for him.” Pania took my tricorn hat off my head and helped me out of my coat, leaving me in my T-shirt, my corduroy pants and my boots. I tried to lean down and take my boots off but stopped suddenly when my head started swimming. “Okay, that was a bad idea.”

Pania quickly had my boots unlaced, and I stepped out of them before letting myself collapse onto Emmanuelle’s bed. “Get some sleep, okay?” she said as I shifted onto my side, one hand under my head and the other resting on my left hip. I managed a small nod, closed my eyes and attempted to get some sleep.

I didn’t end up surfacing from sleep until what felt like hours later. A hand running over my head was what woke me, and I opened one eye to see Taylor crouched at my side. He’d shoved his sonic screwdriver into the band of the oversized hat he wore on his head, and was squinting out at me from beneath its brim. “Hey, you feeling all right?” he asked quietly.

“Tired,” I replied.

“Yeah, I thought you might be. We can go home if you want to.” He worked his phone out of a pocket of his pants and checked the time – it was upside down, but I was still able to make it out as nine-thirty.

“We don’t have to go home,” I mumbled, already feeling sleep beginning to drag me down again.

“No, I think we do.” His tone was stern this time, something of a reminder that for all that we were husband and wife, he _was_ thirteen months older than me. “Come on, up you get. Pania’s rounding up Ave and Zo for us.”

It wasn’t until we were halfway up the driveway toward the street that it came over me – a wave of dizziness that was so intense it almost knocked me off my feet. If not for the fact that I was leaning mostly on Taylor as we headed back to his car, I would have fallen over.

“Iss?” he asked, sounding worried. “Are you all right?”

“I-” The dizziness swept over me again, and this time I did fall over. I fell onto my hands and knees, landing awkwardly on the hard and unforgiving concrete of the driveway, and fought against the strong urge to throw up. It was right there in the back of my throat, but I refused to give into it. There was no way in hell I was going to let myself throw up all over Emmanuelle’s driveway. “I think I need to see Dr. Corbett, Tay. I don’t feel very well.”

“Okay.” Taylor helped me off my hands and knees and onto my backside. “You just sit tight. I’m going to go grab Emmanuelle.” He quickly squeezed my shoulder before running back down the driveway, leaving me sitting against the rear wheel of a car that I figured belonged to someone at the party. He was back almost before I realised. “Em’s going to drop Ave and Zo home for us,” he said as he helped me up. “Easy, I’ve got you…”

Whatever Taylor said after that, if he even said anything, I wasn’t entirely certain. All I knew was that before the two of us had even taken one step, I had collapsed against him. The only thing keeping me from falling down was his left arm, which he’d wrapped tightly around me. Not even a second later unconsciousness dragged me down – with Taylor’s voice calling my name in a panic the last sound I heard before I blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title credit:**  
>  _The Beautiful Ones_ \- Poets Of The Fall


End file.
